


The Mysterious Case of the Disappearing Death Scythes

by SassyFlamingo2



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Angst and Feels, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Death Scythe, Drama, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Forbidden Love, Grell has a crush on Reader, Grell has the tiny scissors, Grell is a Drama queen, Grim Reapers, Humorous Mystery, Kidnapping, Literature, Love, Mild Sexual Content, Mystery, Oral Sex, Past Abuse, Physical Abuse, Scars, Smut, Steamy first kiss, Undertaker is Reader's brother, Vaginal Sex, Vampire Bite, Vampire Lords, Vampires, Vampires with transforming powers, adding tags as I go, dead body discovery, fan fiction, traumatic past
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-05
Updated: 2020-05-13
Packaged: 2020-06-11 03:07:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 31,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19524181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SassyFlamingo2/pseuds/SassyFlamingo2
Summary: (Grell X Reader)One by one, Death Scythes are being mysteriously stolen all over London. When Grell's own device is stolen, he inserts himself into the center of the investigation, becoming the unlucky assistant of the stoic Lady investigator (y/n) (l/n), a secret creature of the night. Will the flaming red-haired reaper melt Lady (y/n)'s ice before the entire London Grim Reaper Dispatch falls into chaos?This is a finished story.





	1. Chapter 1

The moon was full and high in the sky above London, illuminating everything in it's reach with a pale wash of light. The streets were deserted, save for a few unsavory type characters of London's dark underbelly. Amidst the empty streets, something shadowy writhed and swirled, darting from house to house in search of it's desired prey. The shadow curled around windows and slithered under doors, a phantasmic black snake with two fiery eyes the color of blood, the color of danger, perched atop it's incorporeal head. As it crawled through the streets, it paused suddenly. The upper half of it's body suddenly reared up cobra-style, a thin pink forked tongue flickering from between fanged lips as it tasted the area, honing in on it's prey. The shadow crawled toward it's new target, an inconspicuous row of red brick townhouses, one of which had sheer red curtains fluttering freely in the night breeze.

It was easy for the shadow to enter this house, for only a true fool leaves their ground floor window completely open with no other protection from burglars. Once inside, the forked tongue briefly flickered out again, tasting the surroundings of the cluttered sitting room before proceeding up the staircase and into a hallway of closed doors. Deafening donkey-like snores and groans echoed out of the room on the end, almost making the shadow recoil in horror but it must complete it's mission, it had already come too far to turn back know. The shadow advanced, using it's snout to lightly nudge the door emitting the monstrous sounds open. If the shadow could see color, it would have been most certainly overwhelming by the interior of the bedroom decorated entirely in a vivid shade of scarlet red. Another pair of sheer red curtains framed a open window on the left side of the room. The walls were painted the same color red as was the floor. A cherry wood dresser and wardrobe were on the right as was a full length mirror but largest of all was the giant cherry wood canopy bed that occupied the center of the room. The red tapestry canopy was tied at each of the four corners with a red velvet ribbon, and red bed linens were spread underneath a pile of plushy pillows. Buried face down in those pillows was a man with red hair so long that it blanketed his whole body in a rumpled frizzy blanket. He didn't appear to be breathing but was somehow making those trumpeting noises through the pillow. One of the man's slender pale hands just barely peeked out from beneath the pillows, clutching a large red chainsaw in his sleep-ridden grasp.

The shadow cautiously approached the bed, gingerly climbing up the slick satin sheets and slithering around the man's arm. The cool scraping sensation of the shadow's ghostly scales against his arm caused the sleeping man to giggle, the chainsaw becoming even more tightly wedged in his grasp. The shadow had to be careful, for reapers did not let go of their death scythes easily. Coiling tighter and tighter along the extended limb, the shadow flicked it's tongue along the length of the man's hand, the sensation not unlike the ticklish feel of a butterfly's legs on exposed skin. The man giggled, snorted, and laughed, his hand opening enough that the shadow could slide it's head through the handle of the chainsaw, slide it down it's smooth muscular body, and begin extracting itself from the man's body. 

With a sudden surprising barrage of cackles, the arm the shadow was still partially wrapped around jerked as the red-haired man rolled over onto his back, sending both shadow and death scythe flying through the air to land with a painful thump against the opposite wall. The shadow, shaking it's head to clear the momentarily dizziness from the blow, was internally thankful that it had been lucky enough not to land on the sharp blade of the chainsaw which would have meant immediate death. 

"Who's there?" The red haired man sat straight up in bed. His greenish-yellow eyes squinting at the interior of the room. The shadow's mission was nearly compete, it had the death scythe and now it could leave. Wrapping it's tail through the chainsaw's handle, it lunged for the open window, the sinuous sliding the long body along the floor like oil.

"You demon! Get back here with my death scythe!" the man screamed, flinging the blankets aside and grabbing the closest thing to hand -- a red handled hair brush -- he threw it at the shadow's head. The shadow ducked it's head from the missile but he missed by a good 12 inches. More items came flying through the air; a handheld mirror, a pair of red leather boots, a case of handkerchief. Every single one of the objects missed the shadow's body by a reasonable safe distance. The shadow was grateful to not be impaled just yet due to the severe nearsightedness that plagued all reapers. With a mighty heave, the shadow lifted it's body and the weapon onto the window ledge just as thin bony hands latched onto the death scythe. 

"Gimme that, you d*** demon!" The man snarled as he tugged on the chainsaw, his shark-like teeth bared in a fearsome grin. "It's mine!"

The shadow, not ready to give up it's prize, hissed loudly like steam whistling out of a teakettle and lunged, long white fangs dripping with powerful venom. The shadow missed the man's hands but startled him enough that his hands slipped from the chainsaw and slid down the blade, slashing large gashes into the pale skin of his palms that immediately wept dark red blood. With his opponent now disabled, the shadow crept off into the night with it's prize. The man's screams of damnation and vengeance echoing throughout the still London night. 

~~~~

"You have to do something about this creature, Willie! I need my death scythe!" Grell slammed his bandaged hands onto the desk in a display of his anger and then immediately regretted it as the stabbing pains shot through his palms, slicing open the semi healed lacerations that sent blood leaking into the bandages wrapped tight around his hands.. His greenish-yellow eyes blazed like fire behind the red cat-eye frames as he tried to sway his opponent to his demands.

The stoic William T. Spears, the head of the management division for the British division of the Grim Reaper Dispatch, casually adjusted his glasses. "Just what exactly do you want me to do, Grell? 85% percent of all the reapers in our division have had their death scythes stolen within the last three weeks. The remaining 15% percent that still have their assigned death scythes are _severely_ overbooked to make up for the lack of reaping activity. The Forensic department is working night and day attempting to find information about the thief with no success so far."

"Well, I can't just sit around and do nothing!" Grell shouted, flinging his hands up into the air dramatically. "I specially personalized that death scythe all by myself! I need it back now!" 

William leaned backwards into his chair. His lips pursed in thought and hands steepled over his chest. The private investigator recommended by the forensic department was due to arrive in his office any moment. Even though the stolen death scythes were not his particular department, the lack of productivity caused by many of the reapers receiving injuries by the thief (or from their own foolishness, like Grell grabbing onto the blade of his death scythe. The idiot should count his blessings that he didn't chop his own hands off.) Additionally, when Grell was in the right mood, he could turn out to be quite the detective when he wanted to be. Maybe he could help the investigator? An entertained Grell was a Grell that wasn't making more paperwork for him, a winning choice in any situation. 

The closed door to Williams office opened slightly, the blonde head of his assistant, Patrica, popped in the space. "Pardon me for interrupting, Mr. Spears, but I just received a message that the investigator is here."

"Thank you, Patrica. Please escort them up immediately." The door barely has time to close before Grell is about to launch another whining tirade. The first syllables already escaping his mouth when William opens one of the desk drawers, produces his pruner death scythe, extends the handle, and pops Grell harshly on the head.

"OW! What did you do that for?" He squeals, protectively wrapping his arms around his head and eyeing William distrustfully.

"Grell, Shut up and listen. We have arranged for a special private investigator to come and work with the forensics division on this special case," William stuffs the pruner back into a drawer and fiddles with his glasses again as he fixes Grell with a particularly piercing glare. "If and only _if_ , you can control yourself and act as a respectable reaper should, I _might_ allow you to work as a partner with the investigator, pending their agreement of course." 

"Oh, Willie! You're giving me a minion? How delightful!" Grell gushed. His bandaged hands clasped together in a prayer-like fashion and his eyes glimmering with child-like joy. In his own true fashion, he ignored Williams instructions to act respectable and began twirling around the room, his red coat fluttering behind him like a pair of giant bat wings. Finally! After years and years of being a junior partner and working alone, he would finally have someone he could order around to do his bidding. It would have been even more thrilling if it hadn't required losing his own beloved death scythe.

Two sharp raps against the door interrupted his internal musing, sending him flying to open the door before William could even stand up from his chair. His fingers shook with barely suppressed delight as he opened the door... and was surprisingly silent as he scrutinized the new arrival.

A completely stunning young woman was standing before him. Your (h/c) hair was swept back into an sleek chignon that accentuated your face structure. A dark grey dress accentuated your body all the way down to the tips of your shoes, revealing your natural curves along with the unnaturally narrow waist forced upon you by your corset. Elbow length sleeves ended in a pair of long black leather gloves that hid your hands -- one of which held a small grey silk beaded purse -- and matching heeled black boots raised you from your height of (height) up to eye level with Grell. In total, you cut an elegant figure in somber shades of grey and black, but he found the most striking thing of all to be your eyes. Your (e/c) eyes returning his gaze with an unequal sharpness, he could practically feel those (e/c) knives filleting his skin bare, reducing him to nothing more than his innermost self. He felt pinned, like he was a fish and you an eagle, his self violently wriggling in your grasp but you kept him pinned with the sharp talons of your stare. He was truly frightened to his core -- something he hadn't been in a very long time. "Th-This is my minion? This woman?" He finally managed to stammer, the gears of his brain rapidly churning to come up with some excuse to not partner with this terrifying lady. "She's-She's so DULL!"

"Grell! Do not insult Ms. (y/n) (l/n). She is our highly accomplished new investigator." William issued. Sweeping Grell aside with one arm, he motioned you into his office and to sit in one of the uncomfortable looking office chairs.

As you glided past, you arched one elegantly shaped brow at this man who looked like he had fell into a bucket of red pain, drunk. "I was not aware that this position was accompanied by a partner?" Your voice was just as sharp as your eyes, a shining blade of ice that sent spider-like shivers scuttling down Grell's spine. 

William returned to his seat, opened one of the desk drawers, and handed you a fat office file of the current investigation that you immediately began leafing through . "Here is all of the current information with have on the bandit, the various types of death scythes -- both modified and unmodified -- that are missing, and witness testimony from some of our reapers who had a rather forceful interaction with the thief, etc." He glared at Grell who was still cringing against the wall as far away from (y/n) as he could possible get and still remain in the room. "In fact, Mr. Sutcliff here is one of the witnesses as he was one of the unfortunate reapers whose death scythe was stolen and has gracefully volunteered-" Grell was rapidly shaking his head 'no' at William, fingers drawing a line across his throat in the silent motion to cut it out. "his services to assist you in any possible way during the investigation." William finished.

You lifted your gaze from the papers, twisted around in your chair, and fixed Grell with another one of your icy glances. "I suppose he'll do. It's been a long time since I've had a secretary."

Anger overcame fear as Grell visibly puffed with rage. "A SECRETARY? Now you listen here, missy! I was one of the top scoring reapers in school, An A average I'll have you know! I'm far more talented than some mere secretary" He poked one bandaged finger at her chest with every word. Anyone else would have promptly slapped the dramatic red-headed reaper with his own offending finger but you didn't move. Your face as stoic as Williams, which infuriated Grell even more. "Hello! Are you even alive or some sort of machine?"

Assistant or not, you were quickly becoming annoyed with this obnoxious excuse for a reaper. Nobody would dare speak to you in such a manner -- or poke you with their finger -- if they valued their life and limbs. Although maiming this fool might discourage the client's faith, so you settled for the next best thing.... you wacked him on the head with your purse. 

"Ow! Reaper abuse! Reaper abuse! Help! Somebody call PETR!" Grell screamed in an ungodly high-pitched tone like you had shoved a knife between his ribs. His bandaged hands clutching at his already sore head from William's attack earlier. 

"For heaven's sake, stop screeching like an imbecile!" you swore, once again painfully swatting Grell on the head with your purse. "And what the h*** is PETR?"

"It's- Ow! The people for the ethical treatment of reapers. Ow! Stop it, I command you!" He snarled, snatching your purse out of your hand to which you quickly stomped your heel on his toes. Grell dropped your purse an clutched his foot in his hands, balancing on one foot while giving you the evil eye. You had already retrieved your fallen purse and had it back in your hand, your arm drew back and ready for another strike when William stepped between you, his hands extended to ward off another physical confrontation between the two of you.

"Ms. (l/n), do you accept the job?"

You adjusted your rumpled skirt and answered stiffly. "Yes, Mr. Spears. I accept the assignment."

William nodded his head in approval. "Good. Then Mr. Sutcliff will accompany you and provide you assistance with your work and to all matters Grim Reaper related. If you should find yourself engaged with some type of unsavory creature and do not wish to preform the action yourself, please feel free to use Mr. Sutcliff as he has been trained in these types of matters."

Grell smiles a sneaky little grin and waggles a finger at William. "I don't think so, Willie. I don't have my death scythe, remember? I couldn't possible protect the lovely Ms. (l/n) without it. I guess you'll just have to find someone else." Sarcasm practically drips from his every word. It's against the policy of the Grim Reaper Dispatch to send an unarmed Reaper into a confrontation and he knows this, but so does William.

Williams's lips twitch in a pitiful intimation of a smile -- it's more like a grimace actually. "You are correct, Mr. Sutcliff. However, I do believe you are one of the few reapers that has a _secondary_ death scythe."

This time Grells's red glasses nearly fell of his face as he drops to his knees, shamelessly hugging William's leg as he pleads for mercy. "No! No! Anything but those! I promise I'll be good! I won't cause you anymore trouble! I'll do all your paperwork for a month! No, two months! Just, please don't make me use those again! Please, Willie!" With his streaming tears and large round puppy-dog eyes, he does look rather pitiful, more like a sad little puppy crying because it had no one to play with. It almost made you want to give mercy to the poor man. Almost...

With the precision of a kung fu master, William elegantly kicked out the long leg that Grell was attached to, sending him sprawling across the floor. "Ms. (l/n), I trust that you will contact us if he becomes a bother?" The cool question was phrased more as a blunt statement. You merely smiled and replied that you were sure you could handle him, gathered up the papers in the folder he had presented you with, and wished him a good day as you strolled out of the room, the sharp click of your heels echoing an audible trail as you walked.

"Come along, Mr. Sutcliff." Grell whimpered, pleading with William to spare him from your presence. His promises growing more extravagant by the minute. A full year of doing his own paperwork _and_ William's. An all-expenses paid cruise to the south of France, financed with Grell's own money. Grell even offered to buy William a new house, but all William did was smile that creepy grimace/smile and point in the direction of his new partner.

With one final dejected sigh and a burbling stream of whimpers, Grell shuffled off after his new partner. Head low and shoulders down, more than a few reapers he passed wondered if he was being condemned to some horrible fate worse than death. If they only knew.

William watched till both new partners left the floor before returning to his office and the giant stack of papers that seemed to grow in his absence. One thought stood out in his mind as he settled in his chair with pen in hand, a low rumbling chuckle issuing from his throat. 

"Those two are truly a match made in _heaven_."  



	2. Chapter 2

"Oh, look! It's a-"

"No."

"But, look! It's a-"

"I said no!"

"But-"

You whirled around to face the red haired reaper currently plastered to the glass window of a jewelry store. " _Mr. Sutcliff_ , I have known you for approximately three hours and so far you have threatened me with bodily harm, attempted to murder a young boy who tried to steal your wallet, plastered yourself to three store windows and positively scared the customers inside to dead, and we've only walked barely a mile from the Headquarters." You barely remembered not to say the full name of your client out loud. The walls have ears, you know. "Now, what exactly are you planning on doing with a pair of red jeweled cufflinks shaped like ladybugs?"

"But I love them!" Grell whined. His voice screechingly distorted from where his lips were smushed up against the glass. "I must have them!"

You sighed. How could one man be so infuriating? It was like leading a small child around the streets of London, demanding any and all objects that managed to catch his eye. 

You hadn't been expecting this for an assignment. The morning had started out the same as any other morning. It had been a dry spell lately with only a few jobs here and here. A lady private investigator, no matter how remarkable the skills, was still frowned upon as unnatural. If only they knew just how unnatural you were. A full blooded vampire, turned when you were just 21, had provided you with an entirely new set of skills that were extremely useful for your chosen profession. Besides, what other respectable job would allow you to prowl the streets at night. A stuffy maid or a governess, boring. You were a powerful creature of the night and should have a job where you could fully enjoy this new life -- even if vampires were among the most disregarded supernatural creature. Luckily, your brother agreed. After he extracted himself from his own supernatural situation, he was glad to help you set up your new life. Now the only thing was to attract potential new clients, as your job flow was extremely slow. When a messenger showed up at your door with an invitation to the headquarters of the London Grim Reaper Dispatch for a potential new job, it seemed like a blessing from heaven. Now it was beginning to look a bit more like hell.

Marching up to the flattened grim reaper, you grabbed a handful of his long red hair and yanked hard. Grell flew backwards off the window with a horrifying screech. More than a few passing strangers gave you two curious glances, particularly you since you were the apparent aggressor in this conflict. You were already feeling exhausted from dealing with this immature idiot and the hot summer sun beating down from the blue sky -- contrary to popular believe, vampires did not burst into flames when in sunlight. It simply weakened their exemplary speed and strength to a more human-like level. Although you could have used a damper on the hunger, the burning itch raging in your throat was painfully reminding you that you had skipped breakfast this morning in favor of the meeting and all around you were wonderfully succulent prey. Your carefully cultivated years of self-control was threatening to snap if you didn't prod Grell along to the safety of your house. There you would be alone, the lone siren lure of Grell's blood would be easier to ignore without the masses of people temptingly wandering around you. 

Linking your arm through his, you turned Grell in the direction of your house. If he hadn't been pouting like a three year old denied his toy, the two of you would have been the picture perfect couple out for a lovely stroll. A perfect camouflage for two supernatural creatures. Without allowing Grell to window shop any longer, the trip was rather quick itself. The looming brick building nearing that contained your beloved basement apartment and office. 

Slipping the key in the lock and with a flick of the wrist, your front door opened and you motioned Grell inside only for him to pause in the doorway and stared open-mouthed again. 

"This is where you live? I know I shouldn't have been expecting anything better considering the way you're dressed but this is seriously depressing! Who lives in a house completely decorated in black and grey? It's like an undertaker's parlor." He stalked inside and slumped down onto your black velvet couch.

Truthfully, decorating your apartment in shades of black and grey had never really bothered you before. The black painted walls and furniture hid any bloodstains if you happened to have an accident with a meal. The charcoal-colored fabric curtains were very heavy and blocked what sunlight filtered through the one window next to your front door, effectively keeping your home cool and comfortable. The grey tinged wooden floors were actually not your doing, they came with the apartment. Yes, it was small since it had originally the servant's quarters for the house upstairs, but you had grown to love it.

"How I decorate my home is none of your business, Mr. Sutcliff." You stalked across the room and placed your purse and file down on the black desk that faced the opposite wall from the couch. Settling in the desk chair as you shot another one of your freezing glares his way.

"Darling, if we are going to be working together, you might as well call me Grell." He flapped a hand dramatically in the air. The effects of your well-practiced glares must be wearing off because he no longer smelled as frightened as he did when he first opened the door at the Headquarters. Interesting.

"As you wish. Could you explain to me what exactly happened in your unfortunate encounter with the thief? " It seemed Grell needed no second prompting, for he leapt to his feet and spread his arms wide into the air. The ends of his red coat flaring behind him like wings as he twirled around the room, the smell of his excitement fizzing through the air like freshly opened champagne.

"I thought you would never ask! It was a dark and stormy night. Lightning was flashing through the sky as I trudged home though the pounding rain. It had been a long day of reaping so I was extremely exhausted..." He blathered on about how heroic he was after saving a band of new reapers from an attack by troublesome cinematic records, how he arrived at his home to find the monstrous thief completely savaging his home -- he actually described as being a Minotaur-like creature-- and how he courageously fought the beast in hand to hand combat despite the beast slashing Grell's own hands and was only defeated when the beast knocked him out. When Grell finally finished his tale of valor -- posing with his chest puffed out like some kind of skinny red rooster -- you glanced down at the report on your desk. Somehow you weren't surprised that his current recount didn't match the official report of a snake-like creature sneaking into Grell's house while he was asleep and stealing the death scythe from his arms. A chuckle threatened to bubble up when the writer of the report described the wide variety of shoes, hairbrushes and other various items that had been hurled at the creature but missed, creating a trail of clutter to the open window which was the creature's escape hole. 

The report continued on to explain about the extent of Grell's injuries, how he grabbed the blade of his death scythe in a final attempt to the stop the thief, resulting in his hands becoming so severely sliced that the medic could see the white bones underneath. Your eyes widened a bit in surprise as you read that bit. The sharpness of a death scythe is extremely deadly, able to slice through a building with just one swipe, so to have grabbed the weapon by the blade must have been extremely painful. An injury that severe would cripple a normal human. Grell was very brave.

"Well, darling. I didn't really think about the pain. I was just trying to keep that wretched creature from taking my death scythe," he laughed self-consciously, causing you to jump at his unexpected closeness. Sometime during your mental wandering, Grell had perched himself on the edge of your desk, long legs kicking through the air while he stared at you quite oddly. An urgent burning feeling almost immediately spread across your face under the suffocating weight of his gaze -- Embarrassment. A feeling that had been missing ever since you turned into a vampire. Oh, no. Surely you hadn't spoken that last thought out loud, had you?

"In fact, my hands are nearly healed up! Wanna see?" Ick! No! Drinking blood as a vampire was one thing, but seeing a crusty, weeping fresh wound was a guaranteed way for you to hurl your guts. Clearing your throat to stifle the embarrassment, you waved your hand and started protesting but Grell had already started unwrapping his hands. The stiff coppery scent of his blood filling your nostrils with the deliciously inviting scent that was making your stomach roll in hunger. You could practically smell the essence of his personality in that blood, sweetly vibrant and happy with just a tinge of bitterness. Maybe from sad event faded into the past?

"Ta-dah! See, We Grim Reapers heal pretty fast!" Grell's wide smile showed off those gleaming white shark-teeth of his as he shoved those hands up to your eyes. Much to your surprise, he was right. His hands were very thin, the bones elegantly outlined under the pale skin. On each palm, a jagged pink line bisected straight through the center. The freshly healing skin plump, pink, and healthy as if the injury was a few weeks old rather than a mere few hours. Your gaze flicked upwards to the owner of said hands and found him staring at you again with that expression of curiosity intensely reflected in those greenish-gold eyes. 

You snapped back into your chair as if electrically shocked. "That's enough, Mr. Sutcliff." You gazed down at the desk, shuffled through some loose papers, and handed him a single sheet with a list of items numbered and organized alphabetically. "Go to Mikerson's Emporium and retrieve this list of items." You opened a drawer and removed a small sack of money which you dumped in his lap. "Be careful and make sure that you pay attention to what the prices are for each item that I have listed. Mr. Mikerson is well known to pad the bill just a little bit as a reward for his effort."

The calm curiosity in Grell's eyes flamed to pinpoints of self-righteous anger. "I AM NOT A SERVANT! HOW DARE YOU SEND ME FOR YOUR CHORES!" He seethed. The knuckles of his hands gripped the paper so tight that it looked like they were going to burst through his skin.

You leaned back into the cushy confines of your chair and crossed your arms over your chest. You wanted to smirk ever so badly, it was just to much fun to annoy this man. "I do believe that Mr. Spears said that you were my assistant, correct? So that means doing whatever job I want you to do. Right now, I'm really craving some raspberry tea, so you have your orders." With that said, you turned back towards the case file, casually ignoring the screech of anger and stomping steps as Grell flounced to the door. The powerful slam sending waves of vibrations through your home so strong that the floors rumbled underneath your feet.

Scanning through the papers, a long list of potential informative candidates formed in your mind. A very long list that you were going to interview and hopefully find the next step in the investigation. It seemed that this was not going to be an easy job at all.


	3. Chapter 3

"Finally!" Grell bumped the door open with his bum and lurched inside, the grocery laden sacks weighing his arms down like leaden bonds as he stumbled inside (y/n)'s house to her kitchen. With a mighty heave, the sacks landed on the black flecked granite countertop with a meaty thud. (y/n) had instructed him to be careful with her supplies but right now, he couldn't care less. Today marked officially a week since his beloved death scythe had been so cruelly snatched from his slumbering grasp and NOTHING HAS IMPROVED. The only difference being that instead of working as a grim reaper for stuffy old Willie, Grell was now traipsing all over London proper for some heartless she-demon. Ever since that first day, (y/n) was always telling him to go fetch this tea or go speak to Reaper number 1235463-whatever. His poor feet were nothing more than a tingling sludge of pain that propelled him forward, the sensation lost long three days ago from constantly walking on the streets of London without rest. Every time he would return with whatever she requested, (y/n) would send him right back out for something else, no time to stop and sit a spell for tea or even to visit the spa. Oh, god. The spa sounded heavenly. Grell could just feel the split ends forming in his hair and he had seen the massive purple plums that had formed under his eyes from the lack of sleep. He wasn't fit to be seen anywhere, especially not strolling all over London and talking to who knows what.

"Slave-driving witch" Grell grumbled under his breath as he shoved the loaf of fresh baked bread into the breadbasket but it met with some resistance. An inky black blob slowly rose from the depths of the container, a pair of eyes the color of emeralds slanted open and a cavernous pink mouth with white icicle like fangs bared in a hiss worthy of an Egyptian Cobra. "Get out of the way, you little filthy rat!" Grell swatted at the cat with a paper sack, which the cat sliced in half with one swipe of her lethally sharp claws.

"Grell, you've returned." (y/n)'s voice preceded your arrival in the pantry. "I also see that you've been entertaining Lady Elizabeth the third." Upon seeing her mistress, the cat eagerly leaped from the breadbasket and into your awaiting arms, a rumbling purr beginning low in Elizabeth's throat. Rocking the cat like one would a baby, you cooed over the long-haired black beauty, not noticing the one green eye that glared balefully in Grell's direction. 

He hated that cat. First appearing on his third official day of working for (y/n), the mangy beast seemed to made it her mission to make every moment Grell was in this house a living h***. She had clawed his treasured red jacket so bad that he had to take it off he was going to spend in amount of time inside the hourse, tripping him while he was walking, and always seemed to be hiding in whatever cupboard or closet he opened, whirling out in a flash of razor tipped claws. It only took three times before Grell learned to leap back with reaper speed as soon as he opened a door, lest he avoid another bloodily butchered hand -- and (y/n) yourself would probably smack him if he bled on her floor again. (y/n) insisted that it was only because Lady Elizabeth was shy, that she hadn't gotten used to him yet but Grell had another opinion, the cat was evil. The only object of her affection being (y/n).

Unnoticeably sliding past the smiling woman and purring cat into the combination living room/office space of (y/n)'s basement, Grell sank into the couch with a sigh of relief, flinging his coat and shoes off to the side and sprawling out across the entire length of the furniture. Ah! Sweet blessed relief! His eyelids felt like they weighted 20 pounds apiece and were slowly slipping closed of their own accord. Maybe if he laid still long enough, he could just take a little nap.

"What did Grim Reaper numbers: 98502346, 85320055, and 90065279 say to you about their encounters prior to the theft of their death scythe?"

No! Grell wanted to scream. He didn't care what those weakling babies said. He didn't care if he never got his death scythe back. All he wanted to do was sleep! Was that simply too much to ask? An undeniable poking sensation prodded his shoulder, causing him to groan and barely squint one eye open. (y/n) leaned over him, the cat still cradle in her arms, and an expectant look on her face. Grell sighed and sat up. "I'm fine, Minion darling. Thank you for asking." He ignored the glare you shot his way and the muttered don't call me minion. "All three reapers confirmed the same thing. They had all checked in with the Administrative office clerk before using their death scythes that day."

Your face took on a pensive look as you placed Elizabeth to the floor. Striding to your desk, you scoured thorough the written statements of every single reaper whose death scythe was stolen. If he hadn't been so tired, Grell would have found the tiny frown creasing your forehead amusing. The visible effects of the puzzle pieces of the case whirling in your brain was shining through your eyes, internally illuminating them from their normal (e/c) to a shade lighter. This was one of your features that he found the most interesting, the way you could tinker and twirl a problem into a solution that no one else could see. It was fascinating, the different aspects of your personality. Currently, you practically glowed with life and the thrill of the hunt, much healthier than the frosty aloof armor that was usually in place. Another difference was the way you cared for the cat, free and unrestrained love for the furry creature that seemed limitless. He didn't know why but sometimes it physically hurt the way your eyes would be so full of light with love for the cat, only to darken when you saw or spoke to him, the knife edged armor snapping back in place as if protecting you from some outside danger. He could count on one hand the times you had let that armor slip over the past few days, most namely when you had read how he had injured himself during the theft. He hadn't really thought about it too much, he was just fighting to protect something that was his, but it seemed to strike some inner chord with you. In that moment, he thought he saw something broken and raw flash in your gaze but it was gone so quick he wasn't totally sure he saw it at all. You were a puzzle, equally engaging his interest and frustrating him so much that he wanted to pull his own hair out -- not that he would EVER damage his gorgeous scarlet hair. More than once had Grell been accused of being vain and selfish -- and sometimes it was very well deserved -- but their was something different about you that was irritating him like a rock in his shoe.

His eyelids grew heavier, dropping to half mast as he watched you pace back and forth across the floor. The rhythmic clack of your heels against the floor morphed into a soothing lullaby to his exhaustion riddled body. The muted tones of your speech faintly breached the blanket of exhaustion that was so firmly wrapping around his mind, but it wasn't stimulating enough to stop the calming waves of sleep from pulling him under.....

~~~~~~

_Pain._

_The razor tipped threads were slicing into the skin of his back, leaving trails of steaming hot blood to snake down his spine._

_"No! Not again! I'll be good! I promise!"_

_Now the pain has spread to his ribs, to his chest. The molten ties binding so hard that he can barely breathe. He's suffocating in flames._

_"Please! Stop! PLEASE!"_

_He can barely breathe for the burning pressure on his chest but it doesn't block out the hot breath breathing into his ear._

_"Mama loves good little boys."_

Grell jolted completely off the couch, green-gold eyes bulging behind askew red frames. His mouth opened and panting for air while his chest heaved with every breath, an unfamiliar weight pooling in his lap which he casts aside with one fling. His red coat sails through the air and smacks against the wall, startling Lady Elizabeth the 3rd who screams her fury and runs off. 

Grell sighs and rubs his hand over his face. Its been a long time since he had one of those nightmares, years in fact. He glanced around the room, a confused fog still murkily muddling his thoughts. Where was he? Oh, right. (y/n)'s house. He must have fell asleep on her sofa. He stood up and walked over to his fallen jacket, slinging it on his arms, and looking around for (y/n). She wasn't in the living room/office or in the kitchen. What was she doing? Planning something else to wear his poor feet out? 

Grell waited, slumping back on the couch and twiddling his thumbs. Not a sound good be heard aside from the sound of his own breathing and the distant tinkle of Elizabeth's collar. (y/n) wasn't here. Grell waited, and waited. His nightmare tormented thoughts rapidly growing angrier. Finally, he could take it no longer. He stood up and walked over to her desk. Searching through the drawers and shuffling thorough the papers, he discovered a listing of suspects that (y/n) already had in mind for the theft. "Interview Mr. Snidely of the Administrative Department" was written across the top of the page in big, bold black letters. So, he had traipsed all over London for the past week for her and she left him laying here like a bag of laundry while she went flaunting out to solve the crime. No bloody way in h*** was she doing it without him. Besides, he hated that snobby old prune Mr. Snidely. The fussy old fart always had some snide remark about the way Grell handled his darling death scythe, even going so far as to call Grell "uncooth". Oh, yes. It would be a great pleasure indeed to march into that office and confront that little bald headed midget over his involvement. Maybe if Willie learned of how helpful he had been to (y/n), he would let Grell torture the imp for his evil crimes.

Grell crumbled the leaf of paper and tossed it over his shoulder, littering the neatly tidied room but he didn't care. The sharp click of his boots against the floor served as a warning note of his anger, warning away even Lady Elizabeth who was crouched in the shadows under the couch and considering an attack on the red haired reaper but she had no time. Grell stalked out the door in a swirl of flaming red, the same shade as his emotions. With one powerful kick of his long legs, Grell was soaring to the rooftops using his reaper strength. Effortlessly bounding across the rooftops of London like some giant rabbit, clearing three rooftops in a single bound. It was no wonder it only took him five minutes to return to the Grim Reaper Dispatch. 

Bursting through the swinging doors, Grell swept through sterile halls of the Dispatch like a roaring bull. Reapers of all divisions leaping out of his way as he barreled through the halls, no one daring to stay in his path for fear of being plowed down and turned to a bloody mush on the floor. Based their judgement on the thunderous expression on his face, it was clearly evident who was the more dangerous half of Jack the Ripper and they weren't eager to add to his troubles.

The Administrative department was located on the 23rd floor and that's where he found you, about to enter Mr. Snidely office with your hand already on the doorknob.

"Why in the h*** did you leave me behind?" Grell growled as he burst through the door. With his eyes blazing green fire and all his red hair and his red coat flaring behind him, he looked like a living flame.

You spun around, a bit of surprise showing on your face. "Grell, I wasn't expecting you here."

"You d*** well weren't expecting me here." He stomped his foot angrily against the floor. "Here I was, running my poor beautiful feet to the very bone gathering information for you, and now that it's time to reveal the dastardly mastermind behind this entire scheme." Here Grell paused. A gloved hand spread dramatically across his chest while a few fake tears slipped down his pale cheeks. "My darling minion leaves me behind like an old, discarded rag, no longer fit to be used." he wailed. Your usual response to his dramatic outbursts were either casual indifference, or on occasion, a small twitch of your lips that threatened to spread into a smile but didn't quite hardly grow.

Grell didn't expect you to laugh. In fact, this was the first time he had ever heard you laugh.

You giggled, one arm held against your ribs while bent over nearly double. For a half a second, Grell thought you might have been sick but then he heard the delicate chime-like sound of your laugh. It was absolutely beautiful, perhaps even more stunning than himself! Then, you raised up and he was absolute sure you were the most gorgeous creature to walk this earth. The glittering smile showed off your perfectly straight, sparkling white teeth, and your (e/c) eyes shining with an inner light of amusement that showed not a bit of the drab armor, just pure happiness. He was sure that this sight could make angels weep from the sheer joy that you radiated. He just wanted to bathe in this light forever, to drown in it would be the most delightful thing he could imagine. And then it was gone.

The joy faded just as quick as it had come, a silent click as your armor slid back into place. The light dimmed as a grey fog shuttered across your eyes. The bubbly smile faded back into your usual expression of apathy as you cleared your throat with a ladylike grunt. "Grell, I didn't leave you alone, Lady Elizabeth the 3rd was laying across your lap when I left. Furthermore, I haven't solved the case yet. If you had been paying attention to what I said previously instead of napping, I told you that I have a few questions for Mr. Snidely. Now, are you going to help me or are you just causing trouble?"

"Oh, darling, I wouldn't _dream_ of ever become a hindrance." Grell sped over to the door to Snidely's office and bowed gentlemanly. "Let's go torture a bald midget, shall we Minion?" 

You strolled over and opened the door to the inner office when Grell noticed something odd. A strange flickering sound, similar to the rasping of smooth scales over a sharp rock, hissed behind the door. A sound that he knew all too well from his time spend as a reaper. Rogue Cinematic Records. He shouted for you to stop, but you had already opened the door. Silver strips of film snapped out like hungry jaws, easily slicing through the flesh of your left arm and leaving a dripping trail of scarlet ribbons. Your tortured scream spliced through the air as you kicked at the papery records. Recoiling in surprise at your rebellion, the records attacked with renewed vigor, slicing more oozing red wounds into the tender skin of your face and arms. 

Something snapped Grell into action at the sight of all your beautifully red blood being shed needlessly. For all the ice edged strength that he had witnessed -- and felt during the blows that he had exchanged with you -- you were not some weakling child to be beaten, but instead a powerful young lady fighting an opponent out of you depths but determine to win. If anyone was going to spill your blood, it was going to be him. The small scissor-shaped death scythe manifested in his hands, his longing for his original death scythe returning as he tried to snip the writhing records but was unable to. The tiny blades were no match for the thick strips of film which slithered out of the office in increasing quantity but still he fought on. By now, your screams had silence as had your struggles with the thick bonds of records now completely encompassing your body like the wrappings of an Egyptian mummy. Your fear widened eyes. the only visible space on your bandaged body, stared blindly into the depths of the office. It was only when Grell finally managed to hack through two of the strips did he see what had transfixed you so, and felt a violent stirring in his blood. 

The interior of Snidely's office was completely soaked in crimson. Sprays of scarlet blood arched across the white walls and ceilings like the errant strokes of a child painter. More blood spilled across the floor in garnet colored pools, soaking through the paperwork that floated through the pools like tiny white islands dotted with black ink. A dismembered leg hung across the desk, the ripped edge of the black trousers still clung to the hunk of useless muscle, contrasting brightly with the splintered white bone that no longer supported the limb. A severed arm lay across the brass desk lamp, bloodstained pale fingers still twitching with nerves not fully descended yet. The mated pair of the arm and leg hung suspended across the two chairs that faced what had been Snidely's desk, blood dripping slowly to the ground drop by drop. A gruesome sight all to itself, but by far the most horrifying was the torso. Transfixed in the plush leather office behind the desk, Snidely's torso -- for it had to be Snidely's, nobody else was that weedy _and_ short -- was pinned to the chair by a glittering gold letter opener right through the heart. The remains slumped forward, exposing the inner workings of the saggy, wrinkled throat. The emerging cinematic records sprouting from the ghastly wound in the chest like some horrible weed. 

Needless to say, Grell was _invigorated!_ He spun, sliced, and dashed through the out of control records, cackling like a madman while the blood splashed by the records spattered his clothing. Now, it was Grell who was on the offensive. Oh, it was such a glorious feeling! The way the records turned to ash with only a simple snip! The tangy iron scent that filled the air! But most of all, everything was gloriously red! Red! RED! Oh, he was so thrilled he could scream for days!

"All done!" He squealed, arms raised triumphantly upwards in a v shape with the small death scythes clenched tight in his hands. Only silence congratulated him for his heroic efforts. Where was the thunderous applause or at least one of your ice cutting comments? "(y/n), darling minion? Where's my applause?"

"Sutcliff, what in the h*** have you done!"

Grell spun, coming face to face with a very angry William -- although it was a bit hard to tell, since his expression never changed when he was happy or angry -- tapping one foot against the ground. 

"Willie! Look what I did!" Grell spread his arms wide to gesture at the blood soaked office. It apparently hadn't clicked that he appeared very guilty of the murder based on his bloodstained clothes and death scythes, not to mention the crazed light shining from his greenish gold eyes. The cinematic records, now severed, lay around the room as piles of greyish ash. 

"I can see that, you imbecile. Of all the stunts you've pulled over the years, this is the last straw! How dare you murder one of the most currently distinguished reapers of our time , Mr. Snot-. Er, Mr. Snidely!" The stoic raven-haired reader voice was so cold that ice could have formed on the walls. Grell cringed, falling to his knees in a puddle of blood while clinging to William's knees. Large tracks of tears rolling down Grell's face as he blubbered that he didn't do it and how could William think so little of him. William merely looked disgusted by the red haired reapers shameless display of theatrical emotion and hauled him to his feet by his hair. "Effective immediately, you are on permanent overtime for the remaining portion of your miserable life!"

Grell's scream was ear-piercing as he curled up into a little traumatized ball on the floor. A lifetime of overtime! How could he survive? The truth is, he wouldn't. He would gladly kill himself once again rather than face that future of sheer endless torture.

"Grell didn't do it. The victim was already dead when we arrived." 

Grell glanced through his fingers, seeing you weaving unsteadily on your feet but standing upright. Your (e/c) eyes were unfocused, gazing around the room glassily. Your skin had acquired a greyish cast and a few tendrils of hair curled around your neck, escapees from your normally neat chignon. Blood dripped from your slashed hands onto the floor, the brighter red swirling with the darker drying fluid. Still, your voice continued on, harsh and raspy like your throat was sore, but firmly explaining the events that had transpired so far.

"Mr. Spears, I've had Grell interviewing all of the theft candidates for the past week, and all of their testimonies have one common link. The deceased subject spoke with every single candidate about returning their death scythe in for mandatory 'evaluation'. The troublesome point is that, according to the official schedule posted in the Administrative department, there was no evaluation listed to be preformed at this time. In fact, the secretary I spoke with had never heard of such a thing. I proceeded up to Snidely's office where Grell joined me mere moments before we were attacked by what I am assuming were Snidely's cinematic records gone rogue. Mr. Sutcliff bravely defeated the records and removed the ones who had caused myself bodily harm with what I must say has to be the smallest death scythes I have encounter so far. Now, the answer that I would like to hear from you is how could the entire department of grim reapers not notice one of their colleagues being murdered in their midst?" Your body swayed dangerously, like the broken mast of a ship, threatening to tip over if Grell had not rushed to your side and supported your body with a bloody arm around your shoulders. Still, you glared venomously at the victim of your tirade, who only wiggled his glasses in response. 

"Ms. (y/n). I do not how or why this gruesome action occurred, as our security is the best in all of London, despite being extremely understaffed. Since you have insinuated that Mr. Snidely's death was in connection with the missing death scythes, we will certainly investigate all of his activities that has occurred recently. As you understand, again we are very understaffed, so this process may take some time."

"I assume that you will forward this reports to me when they are completed?" The sharpness of your tone brokered no other answer would be satisfactory. 

"Of course, Ms. (y/n). Now if you will excuse me, I must see someone about cleaning up this vile mess. Mr. Sutcliff, please forget what I said about the overtime. Carry on." With a sharp tap of his heels, William retreated down the hall at a remarkably fast pace. Grell chuckled low under his breathe. He had never seen someone best Willie in the art of diplomacy with such a short sample of scathing words. It was extremely satisfying to see (y/n)'s razor-edged wit finally turned on someone besides himself. 

"Minion darling, you were wonderful! You sent Willie packing with a proverbial punch to the gut! Oh, it's just so exciting!" Grell released his support of your shoulders to wrap his arms around himself and spin. The burning energy from the fight and the exhilarating sight of all that lovely ruby liquid had his blood pumping with a fiery energy, incapable of remaining still as he lept and twirled around the room like a crimson ballerina. A small smile curled the edges of your lips but your body had other ideas, weaving dangerously wide on noodle-like legs before finally sinking to your knees. Grell heard the painful smack when your knees hit the floor and whirled around, diving to catch your upper body in his arms before it hit the floor as well. That's when he finally noticed how much blood -- your blood -- stained your dress.

"(y/n), why didn't you say something? You're bleeding to death!" He cried. His glasses slipping down his nose a bit as he stared into your fluttering eyes. 

"I ca-can take care of my-myself." You stuttered. The large amount of lost blood leaving you weak as a newborn child in Grell's arms. 

"You're bleeding all over everything! So, don't even give me that b*******!" Normally, Grell loved dramatic scenes, the harsher the better, but seeing you like this only sent him scurrying to the medical ward in terror with you swept up in his arms princess-style. How could he have been so blind as to not see how badly you were injured? You weren't even a trained reaper, a normal person unused to dealing with the supernatural nature of cinematic records. By some grace of God, the halls were empty as he reaper-sped through the corridors. With one powerful kick, the door to the med ward went flying open, revealing a sterile white room littered with all sorts of medical supplies.

"Do you think you can sit up, darling?" Grell gently lowered you to a chair where you wobbled in his arms before straightening. Your eyes still watery and unfocused but with the embers of inner determination glowing deep within.

"I have to go. I have important things to do." You started to push him away with a butterfly-light shove to the shoulder but he captured your arms in his hands.

"You're going to sit right here and let me bandage those wounds. Honestly, you are so stubborn! You can't even walk straight but you're determined to wander off and torture someone. Now stay!" When your struggles ceased, he patted you on the head with a smile and a teasing whisper of good doggie. He was actually counting on you not having the strength to swing a punch at him but once again you surprised him, a weak kick to the hip sent him stumbling forward a step. Grell shot a glare over his shoulder and started searching through the cabinets for bandages. Where were they at? Bottles of every conceivable size and filled with whose knows what liquid lined the shelves, medical instruments that looked more like torture devices inhabited the drawers. Ah! There they are! He pushed aside a bottle of greenish liquid to grab a tightly wrapped roll of cotton bandages and stuffed it under his arm. Stepping to the sink, Grell removed his own bloodstained gloves, scrubbed his hands clean, and filled a pan full of warm water.

Grell returned to your side with the pan of a water and a soft rag. Your eyes had blanked again, lost in some inner thought while absently cradling your injured arm to your chest. You weren't bleeding quite so harshly as before, only a small trickle now leaking through the serrated slashes carved into your flesh. The elbow length black gloves you wore were shredded, the upper part missing from the palm upwards to the tips of your fingers, and soaked in blood. Instead of trying to slip the gloves off and risk disturbing the barely clotted wounds, it would be simpler to just cut it off. With only a thought, the scissor-like death scythe appeared in his hand again -- freshly cleaned thanks in part to grim reaper magic, and he reached out for your hand. Your eyes snapped back to the present, body cringing deeper into the chair like a beaten dog, and mouth spouting a few unpleasant curses about Grell and his mother's previous actions concerning his birth that he had only heard the last time he had been in a drunken bar brawl with a sailor. 

"Oh, shut up and give it here," Grell snapped. Returning your glare with an equal strong one of his own -- although his was a bit more fearsome thanks to the supernatural coloring of his eyes. Wriggling his fingers as you gently extended your arm for his inspection. Placing the scythe parallel to the delicate skin of your wrist, he snipped a continuous line straight down the remains of the glove, taking extreme care not to damaged the abuse skin any further. Although your arm was slender, the underlying muscle was firm and taught, indicating your powerful strength and the distance between the typical aristocratic girls who were soft as pudding and yourself. With his head bent across your arm, he could easily feel the soft puffs of your breath against his hair and when your breathing faltered for just a moment when he reached the end. The slit glove fell to the floor with a thud, revealing the soft (s/c) caked in blood and ashy grime beneath.

He pulled the rag from the water and began gently dabbing at the wounds. As cautious as he tried to be, a soft hiss still bled through your teeth and straight into his ear. Grell murmured an apology but you simply nodded for him to go on. You certainly were tough, even in the face of pain. He'd been stabbed by cinematic records before and knew that the pain was worse than the most fearsome wasp's sting. If the roles had been reversed, he would have been begging you to take him out of his misery. 

It didn't take long to finish cleansing your arm, the skin pristine as fine porcelain once more, just now bearing a large white bandage. Fortunately, the other cuts along your arms and neck weren't quite so deep, requiring only a quick once-over to remove the crusted blood. Even though you had protested at first, you had quickly relaxed under his attention. So much that so that your eyes had slipped closed and your body leaned back limply in sleep against the chair, allowing him to study you again as he wiped the small nick on your cheek clean. His greenish-gold eyes missed nothing, not the way your skin felt so soft under his fingers. Not the way your hair shone under the lights like liquid gemstones. Certainly not the tiniest of little smiles curling the ends of your plump lips or the way your head curved back on the chair, baring your graceful neck for him to see. You were beautiful. Not a word that he ever thought he would use in your presence, but you most certainly were. 

The boiling heat from the battle started burning in his blood once again, producing a vision of you clothed completely in red: silky red dress, ruby necklace at the base of your throat, red heels encasing your dainty feet, and your hair long and loose with a fan of red feathers pinned just above your left ear. Your arms would be wrapped around his shoulders and your head thrown back in one of those lilting laughs he had heard merely a few hours ago before raising up and drawing closer. Closer. Heads tilting and lips open for...

The ghostly presence of your breath fanning across his face shock him from the daydream. He lunged backward in shock, he had been about to kiss you! Grell stood up and stalked around the room, tugging at the neck of his shirt and tie. He was sweltering! Tiny droplets of sweat streaked down his neck, his back. His hair was drooping, becoming more like a thick red blanket than the carefully cultivated style that he worked so hard on each morning. His blood was boiling, scorching through his veins like molten lava till his skin felt like it could fry eggs on contact. He couldn't breathe, the rapid thrashing of his heart was driving the air from his lungs, the pulsing tempo beating out a silent code of kiss her. Kiss her! KISS HER!

"Hmn...Grell?" Your eyes, clouded with sleep, opened as you glance around at your surroundings. Fear flashing across your features before transforming back into the stoic mask. You braced your arms against the chair and tried to rise. Stepping once, twice before stumbling forward. Then, you were in his arms.

Oh, god. It was the dream almost come true.

Here you were, delicately lying in the cradle of his arms. Your arms threaded around his neck and fingers wove deep into his long hair. Your faces so close that he could count every single one of your eyelashes -- that is, if his glasses hadn't been fogging up around the edges. A pink flush across your cheeks accompany the soft tugging of your bottom lip against your upper teeth. "Oops," you whisper. Sending a coiled shiver down his spine. Your eyes look so luminous, depthless pools of (e/c) that edge the growing inner iris of raven's black. 

"Oops," Grell echoes. And then he submits to the flames.

The violent clash of teeth, tongue, and lips was a kiss in name only. At first, you're unresponsive, a limp weight in his arms but then you surge forward with a moan. Your tongue wrestles his from your lips and back to his own. The hand in his hair tightens, sending fiery pinpricks through the sensitive nerves in his scalp. His hands slide up to the center of your back, pressing your wriggling body closer to his. His teeth catch on your bottom lip, tugging with just the barest graze of his sharp teeth but it's enough. In an instant, you have him pressed against the wall. A savage growl rumbling from your throat that leaves him positively unable to breathe. You wrench his head to the side with one pull to his hair, baring the pale column of his throat and his eyes flutter closed.

Grell shivers, the cool touch of your fingers tracing the lacework of veins in his throat feels like a blessed relief against his hot skin. Faintly, his clouded mind tries to process the small trail of nips you trace along the underside of his jaw, but it's just feel's so good. He tries to speak, to tell you how good it feels but the words are clumsy on his tongue, coming out as unintelligible moans as you nip and suck at his collarbone, leaving behind round reddish marks that will most certainly be visible later on. When you sink your teeth in his neck, Grell wants to scream. His hands claw at your shoulders desperately, trying to pull you closer. _Closer._

Your hands fly to his chest and shove, knocking him breathless against the wall. The aching absence of your presence in his arms triggers hazy confusion. What is it? Why did you stop? 

You stand across the room, eyes shining bright in horror. Your lower lip trembles as tears start forming the corners of your eyes. "I-I'm sorry! I didn't mean- Oh, god... I can't do this." You turn and run for the door, disappearing down the hall before Grell can even utter a word. 

"What did she mean?" He wonders. Glancing down the empty hallway for any sign of your return. The stinging pain in his neck grows sharper, the telling sign of his reaper healing powers at work. Out of curiosity, he places his fingers against the spot where the strongest sensation lingers.

His fingers come away bloody.


	4. Chapter 4

Hunger thick and fierce clawed at your stomach, the burning sensation of emptiness searing through your dry veins like gasoline over paper. The pain twisting your insides in knots while you stumble along in the darkened streets of London. The spicy remnants of Grell's blood clung to your fangs and lips like glue, a wonderfully spicy glue. Hot and heady, his blood had tasted like a mixture of the most wonderful meals ever crafted, forming a ravenous bouquet that vibrated with all the essence of life. You hadn't intended to bite Grell, but with the paralyzing effects of whatever toxin the cinematic records had imparted to your veins and the bewitching pleasure of his seductive kiss, the temptation had been irresistible. 

"Hey, watch it!"

The sophisticated man with his thick black handlebar mustache and gold rimmed monocle brushed imaginary dirt specks from his suit with one glove clad hand. As if by merely bumping shoulders in passing, you had transferred some terrible disease to his body. Twin points of revulsion glimmered from his piggish black eyes, deepset in his doughy face like two tiny raisins. "Oh, you're one of _those._ " He sneered, lip twisted up into gruesome snarl.

With your bedraggled and blood-stained dress, mussed hair now sticking up crazily, and what you were certain was a half-crazed gleam in your eyes -- if they hadn't fully turned vampire red already -- you didn't exactly fit the image of a respectable citizen traveling alone at night. Your current state bore more resemble to the street beggars and drunkards that littered the streets this time of the evening. A lower class of people than the ones in the upper class of London society didn't care to associate with, as evident by the disgust plainly written across the man's face.

"Away with you!" The man waved his hand in your face, starling you into stumbling back against the wall. A raging urge rose up to grab that failing limb and sink your itching fangs into the soft flesh beneath the jacket, but you managed to push it down. Although not that delicious smelling with the haze of alcohol brushed thickly over his skin, the man before you would provide the means to satisfying your hunger. Your primal instincts screamed at you to hunt, to kill, but your experience advised you to leave him alone. Nothing ever comes of biting unwary humans besides pain. Your hands clenched in the fabric of your skirt to hide the sharp nails that had lengthened from your fingertips, and you bowed slightly at the waist.

"My apologies sir."

He merely grunted, continuing on his way without another glance at you, unaware of just how close he had came from losing his life tonight. You released the breath you didn't realized that you had been holding, the effort sending your vision spinning in a topsy-turvy wonderland view of Downtown London. You had to go and find _him_ fast, or the next encounter might not end so blandly. You pushed off the wall and continued to stagger down the street. The greyish buildings and dark night shadows stretched across the pavement blurred into murky clouds and pools in your vision. A profound sense of relief swept through your body and sent you sagging against a lamp post for support at the familiar royal purple and gold rimmed sign, the title "Undertaker" embossed in bold raven letters. You didn't waste a moment, lurching forward to grab the doorknob and charge through. 

Coffins. Coffins were everywhere around the interior. Coffin shaped tables. A coffin positioned to serve as a couch. Coffins just basically lying on the floor, open and ready for their next victim. Aside from the wooden deliverers of death, the interior was strangely devoid of life or other human influence. You didn't hesitate to cross the room and sink into the coffin-couch, a groan of relief escaping your lips as the cushy confines soothed against your aching bones. Across the way, a skeleton perched atop a wooden base peered at you with glowing green-gold eyes shining from the sockets. 

"Hello, brother." you whispered, voice soft as the breeze of death itself. 

A sudden bout of mad cackling split through the silent air. A noise that could send grown men cringing fearfully in chilling shivers and small children screaming for their lives. But to you, this was the sound of home. 

"Well, well. After not seeing you for a week, I thought you'd forgotten your only loving brother." The owner of the scratchy, reedy voice materialized out from behind the bare skeleton. Dressed in the robes of an undertaker, the tall man had a laughing smirk stretched across face, partially cut in two by the line of stitched scars that bisected his face in a curved line. With those eerie gleaming eyes now covered by the thick fringe of his grey bangs, he reclined in the chair across from you. Hands steepled across his chest, showing off the long black nails that would poke and prod a dead body to satisfy the unlimited bundles of curiosity that surged through his utterly unique mind. 

"Never mind that! I need a drink badly." You snapped. You really hoped that Adrian was in one of his helpful moods today. You weren't in the mood to play games. 

He snickered, shoulders shaking with the movement. The little ragged top hat slid from his head to the floor with the vibrations of his amusement. You scowled, fighting the urge to walk over there and slap the stupid right out of him. Of course he had to be in one of _those_ moods tonight. "Oh, sister dear. Of course I can get you a drink," Adrian pauses. Holding one skinny black-nailed finger aloft in the air. "But first, you have to listen to a joke." He pauses once again, making a strangled sounding grunt in the back of his throat. "What did the fish say when he swam into a wall? Dam!" There is moment of silence before he bursts out into a quivering fit of cackling laughter. His head tips back so far that his shabby black top hat slides from his long hair to the floor. You just sit there, silently staring at your quivering mass of a brother till he ceased his so-called amusement. He drags the back of his hand under his bangs, wiping away the tears of mirth that dribbled from his eyes. "You didn't think that was funny?" 

"Sadly, no. It was idiotic." 

"Hmph, well I though it was funny. A butler told it to me and I laughed so hard that the sign above the entrance fell off." His thin lips turned downwards into a frown. Standing up, he shuffled off to one of the back room and returned with an chipped white teacup cradled carefully in his hands, the curved inside filled with a liquid crimson substance. He handed you the cup and returned to his seat, sweeping aside his long bangs with his hand as he did so, exposing the fluorescence green-gold of his eyes and the full length of the winding scar across his face. Those hypnotizing eyes intensely studied yourself as you eagerly gulped the fresh blood down in three swallows. The flood of coppery tinged warmth spreading through your aching limbs like a wave, hydrating your dry veins and subduing the raging itch that plagued your fangs. Satisfied for now, you placed the empty cut on the coffin-table and met Adrian's stare with one of your own. 

"What?" 

"Oh, it's nothing. I was just curious as to what would make you show up here in the dead of night, and so thirsty. Are your investigative activities taking a toll on my sweet sister (y/n)'s do-no-harm-to-mortals existence?" 

"Don't take such a high and mighty tone with me, Adrian! It's not my fault that I walked into a murder scene with cinematic records gone rogue. Why didn't you tell me that those things were poison to vampires?" 

His eyes widened in surprise while his pale face lit up in interest. "A murder scene? Cinematic records? Just what have you been doing since I saw you last week?" His voice was now much deeper, indicating his personality switch from the odd undertaker to the renegade reaper. 

You then proceeded to explain how a messenger had shown up at your apartment early Monday morning requesting your presence at the Grim Reaper Headquarters, and how when you arrived, the flaming red reaper known as Grell then proceeded to insult you to which you had handily taken care of yourself -- Adrian broke out again into one of those disturbing laughter fits of his when you told him that you hit Grell on the head with your purse for his remarks -- and explaining your difficulties with "Secretary Grell" over the next few days of your working relationship. After sending Grell to interview all of the reapers whose scythes had been stolen, a small but suspicious pattern had emerged. The day before each scythe was stolen, a Mr. Snidely of the Administrative department spoke with each victim about turning their death scythes in for a mandatory maintenance." 

"You mean that old bag of wind is still hanging from the rafters?" Adrian chuckled. His greenish-gold eyes growing brighter as he laughed. "I thought for sure by now he would have passing on to become grave dust somewhere." 

"Well, he is now. That was the body that I found with Grell, and whose cinematic records attack me." You tugged back the edge of your tattered sleeve to show your brother the long, white bandage encasing your arm. "By the way, why didn't you tell me that those things were poisonous?" 

"I can't tell you all of a Grim Reaper's secrets, now can I darling sister?" Adrian waggled a finger in mock scolding at you. A smile -- equally familiar and disturbing -- crinkled at the corners of his thin lips. Leaning forward, he propped his elbows on his bony knees and rested his chin in his hands. Intensely observing you like a fascinating new corpse that had come into his possession. "Now, what exactly is going on between you and the red floozy? Is my baby sister _finally_ having a romantic escapade?" 

Adverting your eyes from his leering stare to the floor, you crossed your arms over your chest. Your voice gone completely soft as you spoke with no trace of the scornful acid that usual laced your speech. "It's not like that. Grell... He makes me laugh." 

Adrian blinked. Jaw open and slack in his astonishment. It was plain to see he was shocked, but to sit there and gawk like one of his corpses irritated you to no end. "Stop that!" You snapped, one of your legs flicking out to kick against his knee. That did the trick. Adrian's dazed moment faded into nonexistence as he smiled, losing the slight mentally unstable aura he carried and returned to the more sane, brotherly air you knew for so many years. 

"That's fantastic, (y/n)! There's nothing more beautiful than a laugh, particularly yours. Although, I must confess. It has been my intention over the years to be the cause of your amusement, but if that red-obsessed lunatic can make you happy, then I'm all for your relationship." Those enchanting eyes took on a hauntingly dark quality again and his voice rose in pitch to a crackly, crazed giggle. "Perhaps soon they'll even be a few little ones eager to help Uncle with his experiments. I can see them now. All chubby faced with your (e/c) eyes and his scarlet red hair. Tiny gold rimmed glasses perched halfway down on their noses. The pure delight spreading across their faces as they extract their first brain and maybe I can help them with-" 

*WHUMP!* 

One swift karate chop to the neck is all it took to knock Adrian into an unconscious nap. His limp body slumping backwards onto the couch sofa like a doll. How dare he insinuate any such claims that any of your future offspring might be interested in his depraved hobbies! Even though his current career choice was extremely handy in providing you with a constant supply of fresh blood to drink, you most certainly did _not_ approve of his extra activities involving reanimating the bodies of the deceased. If someone wanted to live supernaturally, there were always other choices -- or in your case, surprises since you hadn't exactly chosen this life for yourself. 

Placing a chilled kiss on your slumbering brother's cheek, you straightened his fringe of bangs to cover his eyes once more and replaced his ragged hat, leaving him to sleep on in the strangely comfortable confines of a coffin -- why not? everyone already knew that your brother slash the strange creature known as the Undertaker had a peculiar affinity for living in his own coffins. Departing his home without even a backward glance, you slipped through the streets of London like a shadow, your vampiric speed and prowess now fully returned after that little snack. It wasn't long before you returned to your darkened home... and a very unhappy Lady Elizabeth the Third. The thoroughly shredded remnants of her fury were scattered all around the apartment; the grey couch now clawed till the stuffing erupted like a massive outbreak of sheep's wool, the finely minced remains of your paperwork littered your desk like a coating of powdery white snow, all your jackets had been pulled from the closet and sliced into long strips which now formed a cozy little nest in the center of the floor. The culprit sat square on top of your desk, all four petite feet tucked up under her fluffy poof of a body with a sinuous black tail thrashing against the wooden surface like an enraged serpent. Her gleaming green eyes were mere slits in her angular face, wrathful green flames that were imagining your long and tortuously slow death. A bitter/spicy scent like cinnamon permeated the apartment, the aroma of Elizabeth's anger. 

"Hello, sweetie. Did you miss me?" You aimed to pat the angry fluffball on her head but narrowly missed having your hand sliced open by her miniature knives. As you viewed the scene of destruction that had enfolded your apartment and started straightening up, you noticed that Elizabeth's crystal dish was empty of Kitty Kibbles. Ah! That's explains the destruction. Lady Elizabeth gets very angry when she's hungry -- who doesn't really? Walking into the kitchen, you opened the cabinet and removed the box of Kibbles and refilled her bowl with the crunchy brown squares. The dry nuggets producing a light tinkle as they collided against the pure crystal. With the siren call of food now established, Elizabeth hopped off the desk with a thump, waddling over to eagerly bury her head in the bowl with a barrage of crunching sounds following shortly after. 

Leaving her highness to her meal, you wandered off to bed. Even after the revitalizing drink of blood, a weighted feeling of exhaustion still plagued your limbs, making them feel as heavy as stone -- similar to grim reapers, vampires like yourself still needed to eat and sleep like humans to maintain their supernatural powers, except vampires also had to drink fresh blood at least once a week to avoid starving to a petrified comatose state. You scarcely even felt like removing your clothes, leaving them in a filthy heap on the floor as you slipped the pins from your hair, freeing your long (h/c) locks from their usual confined locks. Your billowing white nightgown still laid across the bed where you had left it this morning -- a miraculous survivor of Lady Elizabeth's wrath -- and you barely lifted it on before falling beneath the covers, snuggling down into a warm cocoon of sleep. 

_~~~~~_

_Your eyes lifted in a gloriously sunlit field of grass. Each individual blade rippled in the soft honey-scented breeze over and over till it was an endless wave amidst the lush green sea. Here and there, baby pink petaled daises dotted the landscape like little sprinkles atop a cake. The low hum of bumblebees, their little yellow and black bodies fat with pollen, droned soothingly as they buzzed to and fro among the flowers. The sunlight warm on your face, not draining your strength as was all too common as a vampire. It was a perfect paradise._

_"Heeellooooo, darling!"_

_This large, red, oblong creature is bounding over the grass on stubby legs. Spaghetti thin arms outstretched as if it was waiting for a hug. A shiver of cold fear trickled along your spine as the object grew nearer. A strawberry, nearly five feet tall, was rapidly drawing closer, a sticky sweet-smelling red juice was leaking from it's body, staining the grass in a bright red trail as it waddled closer. Close enough now that you see the fist sized dimples of gold seeds in the bright flesh, another peculiarity of the giant fruit was that it was wearing a pair of red wire framed glasses. The berry had no eyes to speak off, so why did it need glasses? "The love of your life is here!" The fruit cheered._

_Oh, h*** no! You weren't in this mood for this kind of s***. Just the amorous fruit tried to sweep you up into its juicy grasp, you dodged to the side and sped off, arms pumping and legs flashing as you ran... or thought you were running. A pulling sensation beneath your feet made you look down and gasp. The soft carpet of grass beneath your feet had turned into some kind of endless tapestry, the rolls of fabric bunching behind your feet as you ran but achieved no distance. The sunny sky above had darkened into an endless skyscape of thick charcoal clouds, completely blocking out the warm light into a cold, dreary darkness. Flashes of white-hot lightening streaked from cloud to cloud in jagged bursts, forewarning of the dangerous storm to come. You had to get out of here, get somewhere safe, but the harder you ran, the more the tapestry bunched up behind you till it towered high into the sky like a mountain threatening to crush you with its vast weight. More shouts of admiration close to your ear caused you to glance over your shoulder, even the d*** berry was still there, skipping over the tapestry mountain like a nimble goat. Come closer. Closer._

"Oh, yes. _Yes_. Darling minion, you are absolutely gorgeous!" The whiny voice and a flash of light calls you into wakefulness. Your eyes crack open, barely a slit that shows a blurry red figure holding a square boxish thing in front of his face. The light flashes again, temporary blinding you in a sea of pink and blue lights. "Yes, yes! Show me your beautiful eyes!" 

"Grell! What the h*** are you doing?" You demanded, pulling the covers back over your head. Based on the brief hint of sunlight filtering through your heavily curtain window, it was just the early hours of dawn. Not exactly the long night's sleep that you had intended after coming to bed so late. 

"Minion!" Grell whined. "Don't hide your lovely face from me!" Huh? Your lovely face? Has he been smoking something? It was just a few days ago when he had been proclaiming his profound hatred for you. Something long and thin began relentlessly poking at your back. "(y/n)!" Your name was drawn out into a squeaky screech when you failed to remove the blanket under his assaulting digits. Grell's finger ceased digging into your spine for a moment and you groaned in relief, only fall under attack again to renew as he viciously tried to tug the blankets away from your figure. Your fingers curled tighter in response but it didn't stop the the covers from being peeled back over your curled body. "There's my lovely (y/n)." The bed bounced and swayed as a new weight dropped onto the mattress. A heavy weight whose long limbs began entangling themselves around you, but you stubbornly still refused to open your eyes. A thin hand traced a meandering path up and down your spine. Gliding up to rest on your shoulder, the fingers twirled through the lacy collar of your gown. The heavy sweet scent of lust was rolling off his body in waves, clouding your senses till all you could smell was him. Against your better judgement and the hardened armor from years of practiced avoidance of others, you relaxed under his gentle touch, allowing a small smile to curl the edges of your lips. Idly wondering exactly how far Grell was willing to go, your answer came as a slight ticklish sensation draped over your face and blocked out the light. You trembled slightly as warm breath blew across your ear, your eyes cracking open to meet vivid greenish-yellow irises nearly obliterated by the vast dark pool of his dilated pupils. Grell leaned over till his face was just inches from yours. "You look positively beautiful in the morning light, darling. I could just eat you up." He whispered, leaning in to kiss your lips with firm pressure that only yielded when a bit of pink tongue slid along your sealed lips. 

Happy thoughts gone. Panic now firing up. 

You shoved your hand into his chest, using just a teeny tad of vampire strength to send him rolling into the floor. You sat up and started swiping your hand over your lips, trying to rub away the sensation of his skin against yours. "Sutcliff, do I even want to know what that was for? Or should I just report to Mr. Spears that you tried to assault me in my sleep?" 

Grell's upper half pops up over the edge the bed, one arm bent to prop his chin up while he flirtatiously fluttered his long, dark lashes at you. "Darling, let's not play lovers games. You know very well what my intentions are. After all, it was only last night when it was you who was trying to ravish _me_." He cooed. Unraveling his red and white striped bowtie with one well-placed tug, the red reaper slid one finger along the loosened collar of his shirt and pressed it down, revealing a round red bruise marking the pale skin at the junction of his neck and shoulder. 

A surge of heated blood rushed to flood your face. He remembered that? Of course he would. You tried to suppress the urge to face-palm. How could you be so stupid as to bite him even in a moment of weakness. His strange mind has probably twisted it around into some kind of kinky act by now. Although... that does begin the question of didn't he realize that he was being bitten by a vampire instead of a human? "So... You didn't mind that I got a little... rough?" You drawled slowly, choosing every single word with care. 

"Mind?" Grell's eyes sparkled in pure delight as he crawled up the bed like a prowling panther. A red prowling panther. "Minion, darling. Once I saw the flaming passion unleashed from that icy demeanor, I knew that you were the one for me. In fact," He brought a hand up to his lips and whispered conspiratorially -- for what reason you didn't know. The only other person in your apartment was Lady Elizabeth and she hardly cared what you two were discussing. "At first, I thought you were a frigid b****, always ordering my handsome self around like some kind of slave to do this or do that. You practically crippled my delicate little feet, you know. But after every encounter, there was always something else lingering in my veins. Something hot, wild, and free. I thought it was hatred, but then when you kissed me, it bloomed into something even more intense. A raging red flame of love and romance threatening to consumed us both in it's boundless grasp. Then you left, taking that searing flame with you and leaving me freezing in the frigid air with only my dreams of what could have been for company. I barely slept all night, just tossing and turning with the image of you constantly in my head." He then proceeded to explain in _vividly_ lifelike detail of just what those dreams of his contained. 

Quite frankly, you were stunned. The capabilities of his mind to generate pure smut were greatly underestimated. 

"Ahem," You coughed into your fist while trying to disguise the brilliant red flush on your cheeks. "Since that's cleared up. Has Mr. Spears sent you any information regarding the recently deceased?" 

"Oh, _that_." Grell's disgust is palatable as his greenish-yellow eyes roll so far back in his head that you were quite sure they would get stuck. "Willie finished that this morning. I think he said something about giving this to you, but I was just so overjoyed to see you again that I didn't quite pay attention to his blathering." Grell sat up on his knees and rummaged through the pockets of his vest. When he finally did locate whatever it was he was looking for, it came out as a tiny crumpled ball of paper in his palm. "Oopsie." 

Digust turned to insult when Grell frowned at the gleeful way you snatched the paper from his hand. You were so eager to turn the conversation away from his feelings from you. You nibbled on your lower lip in anticipation, carefully unfolding the folded edges with steady hands to reveal... one sheet of paper? Actually the text only covered half a sheet when subtracted the space for the pre-programmed header embossed with the name "William T. Spears". You skimmed through the under-qualified report in less than a minute. Quickly learning that Mr. Snidely was inducted as a grim reaper 450 years ago, plodded along as a middle-class reaper before showing a remarkable talent for paperwork that led to his swift climb of the promotional ladder to his last known position as Head of the Administrative Department. Snidely led a rather boring existence during his time as a reaper, always preforming his duties as instructed with no frills or extensions. Even before his death there was no reports of any variances in his normal schedule of arriving at 0500 hours. and departing at 2100 hours. The only differentiating factor in Snidely's life compared to the lives of most reapers was his marriage to another reaper in the Administrative department, a Lady Jane Blackhouse-Snidely. 

Reaching the end of report, you flipped the sheet over to see if there was any information contained on the back but it was blank. Very puzzling. How could one little man lead such a bland existence for half a millennium? You tapped a finger against your lip in thought -- unaware that Grell was watching you in silent rapture and recording your every expression with his camera -- it was obvious that Snidely had some kind of connection to the thefts, otherwise his death would not have occurred on the very day you had decided to question him. Maybe his wife would have some insight into his private life, or at least you might could enter his home and poke around -- one of the pesky rules of vampirism was that you had to be invited into a personal residence. 

"Grell, do you feel up to a trip?" you asked. Folding back the covers, you strolled over to your closet and selected your outfit for the day, a long lacy black dress with a fitted corset and mid-length sleeves ending at the forearms. 

"Oh, (y/n)! How surprising! A getaway for a lover's tryst." Grell clutched his arms around himself, swaying side to side so much that his spine appeared to be made of jelly. His red coat slapped against his sides like a pair of giant bat wings... and produced that same creepy sound of leather snapping against flesh. Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed the glimmering emerald eyes of Lady Elizabeth. Attracted by the swirl red fabric, she leapt high in the air with warbling battle cry, descending down onto Grell's swirling outerwear with lethally sharp white claws fully extended, her added weight causing the coat to fall from his arms. Grell screamed, a high pitched sound that almost shattered glass, and whirled around with death scythes clicking in his hands. "I'll get you for that, you little black dust bunny!" He snarled while advanced towards the hissing little cat who crouched down in her hard won price and bared her own little white fangs. 

If you hadn't seen Grell use those tiny scissors before with such lethal accuracy, you wouldn't have feared for your poor cat's safety. Lady Elizabeth was more than capable of taking care of herself in a brawl -- as any proper lady should be -- but Grell was highly motivated by his attachment to the red garment, so you're weren't prepared to replace your beloved pet just yet. Sweeping forward, you removed your mighty little panther from her prey and presented the coat back to Grell. "Sorry to disappoint you, but no. No lover's tryst. We're going to interview Snidely's wife, Lady Jane Blackhouse. Are you familiar with her?" 

"Yes, she's a drunken old biddy who constantly has a glass of Manhattan in her hand." Grell snatched his coat back so fast that your fingers burned from the rush of contact. He slips it on, fussily adjusting the drape of the material to just the right angle before satisfied. "Every reaper dreads being called into her office because she gets rather handsy the drunker she becomes. I'll have you know that she pinched my bum the last time I encountered her!" You covered your mouth with your hand trying to disguise the laughter bubbling up. "Don't laugh! It's not funny! I had blue claw marks on my bun for two weeks!" Everything about Grell seemed to visible puff with indignation. His thin chest puffed out like a balloon, the straightened ends of his hair floated straight out from his head like the spines of a hedgehog, and his eyes had been reduced to tiny black pinpricks that resembled tiny chunks of searing coal. 

"Well, I suggest that you find some armored trousers because we're going to interview her after I get dressed." Depositing a scowling Lady Elizabeth onto your bed and gathering up your clothing for the day, you headed into the bathroom, leaving behind a grumbling Grell who sat cross legged on the floor and fiddled with his camera -- you peeked out just make sure. After he pressed a button on the sides of the camera, a series of photographs consisting all of you in varies poses of sleep emerged from a tray in the camera's bottom. His girlish squeals of delight echoed throughout the apartment as he clutched the photos to his chest, singing high praises of your beauty once again. His overblown reactions brought a smile to your face. Maybe Adrian was right, although Grell was a bit strange at times, his friendship might actually help you feel more normal again and less like an shadowy outcast to society. Then... you caught sight of yourself in the mirror. A squinty-eyed Medusa with puffy cheeks, red rimmed eyes, and a mess of hair sticking every which way from her head stared back in return. 

"GRELL! GIVE ME THOSE PHOTOS!" 

_~~~~~_

"But darling, I still don't understand why _I_ have to be here?" Grell whined for the umpteenth time since the two of you left your apartment. With his glasses slumped to the end of his nose, arms folded across his chest, and sloughed figure sunk deep into the cushions of the horse drawn carriage, he looked more like a petulant child than a grown man. After chasing him around your apartment for the better part of an hour -- and another 30 minutes to completely incinerate those photos while he screamed in agony on the floor -- it was mid-morning by the time you were on your way to the north side of London and Lady Jane's manor. 

"Because, Grell, you are my assistant and an interview is always conducted in pairs." You sat primly with your hands folded in your lap and fixed him with your most withering stare. "Haven't you read that new novel "Sherlock Holmes"?" 

"Darling, I don't read any of that modern stuff." Grell sighed, twirling one of his long locks between his slender fingers. "I prefer the real classics like Romeo and Juliet. Such glory. Such romance. And then that ending. Ooo! It just gave me chills! I wish my own love could be as wild and unbridled as theirs." 

"You mean that you want to act like a empty headed brat of a teenager who killed themselves rather than face up to their own actions. No thank you. I'll take a sensible detective over that kind of mindless mush any day." 

Grell just sighed and slumped down even further into the seat, reminding you a little bit of the walking strawberry from your dreams... after its been squished a little bit. 

The rhythmic clip clop of the horses hooves stalled outside a foreboding iron gate nearly five feet high. The wooden carriage groaned as the driver swung down, opening the door with a sweeping flourish and gallantly offering you his callused hand which you accepted as you stepped out. Grell thumped out behind you in a swirl of red, swiping his hand over any imaginary lint that may have clung to his coat. "We're here, my lady." The driver said, his heavy accent muddling the words till they were as smashed as mashed potatoes. Rattling off the amount for the fee, you dropped a handful of coins into his upturned palm to which he smiled a snaggletooth grin and tipped his cap before climbing back up the carriage. With one slapping motion of the reins, the horses neighed and clomped off, leaving you and Grell alone in the dust. 

"Well, shall we carry on?" You didn't wait for a response as you marched up towards the gate with your shoulders held back and chin high with determination. Even if Lady Jane was a lush, liqour has a way of loosening people's lips to reveal things they otherwise would not have said. With one simple push, the gate swung open with a mouse-like squeak, baring a beautifully green but vastly overgrown lawn flanking a typical English manor beyond. All tan stone and high arching windows, the manor was a stately beauty to behold if it had not been surrounded by the Amazon Jungle. The saving grace was a rough stone path mostly clear of obstacles that led straight to the front door. Carefully picking your way across the jagged stones to avoid a twisted ankle, you had to stop and help Grell at least five times due to his heeled boots becoming lodged in the stones and falling forward like a red maple tree. 

Dust ridden and slightly bedraggled, the two of you finally straggled up to the door like a couple of washed ashore sailors. "Dust yourself, Grell. We must look presentable." You set about straightening your own dress and shaking off the dust, then moving on to your hair. Smoothing your fingers across the silky strands to ensure that they remained pinned in the usual sleek chignon. The good lord forbid that anyone should see you looking less then perfectly presented. Off to your side, Grell was undergoing his own similar procedure, fluffing and straightening his clothes while also flicking his long expanse of scarlet hair. 

The giant door swung open just as the two of you finished primping at the exact same time. A little bespectacled butler, barely five feet in his shoes stood there looking more exhausted than anything. A thin covering of grey hair stood straight up from his speckled scalp and his long jowls jiggled like a hound's as he looked between the two visitors standing on his doorstep. "I suppose your here to see the missus." He said without any introduction whatsoever -- extremely bad form for a professional butler. Motioning you inside, the butler led you two through a spacious but dust covered foyer, a sparsely furnished sitting room that was patterned with the light and dark splotches of furnishings now missing. It was really quite odd how everything seemed to lack the luster of care despite the fluttering movements of the butler and the squad of maids filtering in and out that you were led through but you declined to comment and you were secretly grateful that Grell kept his mouth shut as well but the painful grimace on his face showed his displeasure -- that may have also been the result of your fingers deeply pinching into the skin on the underside of his arm. 

Emerging into a well maintained garden filled with pink rosebushes and lush green hedges shaped into geometric patterns, the butler indicating to pause here with his hand, the butler crossed over to a charming white patio set where a tall, stately woman reclined in a matching chair beneath a swathe of weeping willow trees, a slender glass of amber liquid topped with a long stemmed cherry held in her right hand. With the two heads bent over in mumbled conversation, your view of their lips was blocked but that wasn't really a problem. Concentrating in the direction of their speech, your vampire-given hearing sharpened and focused, picking up a few snatches of their hushed conversation. 

"-strange. I recognize the handsome one from the office but the woman I don't recognize?" 

"She's a private investigator, madam. Rumored to be a very tenacious one as well. I believe the report said that they were the ones to discover the master's body." 

The woman sipped from the glass in her hand. "Ah! So she's a nosy b**** then. Well, two can play at that game. Tell them-". 

Your vision blurred. A heavy object smashing itself into your head with enough force to send you staggering back two steps. Warm hands descended on your shoulders, holding you steady, while a high pitched scream sounded just inches from your ear. "Hey! Watch where you're throwing that! You damaged my lovely minion!" You rubbed your hand over the ache in your skull. What the h*** was that? Grell continued to hold you protectively against his chest, his body forming a barrier between yourself and whatever mystery object had assaulted you. 

"Sorry, Ma'am." A childish voice spoke up. Blinking open your teary eyes, your vision wavered like water for a few seconds before focusing on two short blobs. A boy, barely older than seven, stood silently holding a red rubber ball with an extremely timid smile. His navy and white sailor's cap perched adorable atop his raven locks and matched his little sailor's outfit to a tee. A little girl, even smaller than the boy, peeked nervously around the boy's back. Her thumb pushed between her lips while making sucking noises and her long honey-blonde hair pulled up on each side of her head in pigtails. "We were just playing and I didn't mean to hit you." 

The little girl and boy looked so sweet that you couldn't help but smile. "Oh, now look. Aren't you two just the cutest little thing!" Grell gushed. He leaned over to pat each one on the head, unknowingly placing himself in reach of two sets of grabby little hands. 

"Look, Emily! This old guy's got neat glasses!" The boy reached up and swiped Grell's right off his nose. The skull decorated black chain that usually prevented the red frames from wandering too far snapped upon the stress and dangled around Grell's neck like discarded tentacles. As swift as his chubby little legs could carry him, the boy dashed off through the yard cackling and twirling the frames around like a new pinwheel. The little blonde haired girl followed close behind, the edges of her fluffy pink dress fanning out behind her like a cape as she ran after her brother. 

"HOW DARE YOU!" Billowing clouds of white steam bellowed out of Grell's ears like the chimney of a steam engine. The fuming reaper charged after the two mischievous children. The red frames bounced between the pair's chubby hands like the ball that had bounced against your skull, enraging Grell even further as he slipped and slid through the grass. His heeled boots having trouble keeping up with the frequent directions changes of the children as they, quite literally, ran circles around the raging red reaper. Usually resulting in Grell landing flat on his stomach or back in the grass before springing back up and resuming the chase with renewed vigor. 

A light tapping against your shoulder beckoned your attention away from the comical scene playing out before you as the butler directed you to sit at the table with the lady. A new placing setting already waiting your arrival as did a chair pulled back and a shimmering cocktail glass filled with the same amber liquid and cherry as the lady of the manor held -- a Manhattan based on the scent of it. Lowering yourself into the offered chair, you elegantly crossed your legs and placed your hands on your lap, not even offering to touch the drink placed at your side. Now that you were sitting up close, Lady Jane's dignified appearance lost some of it's luster as you were now close enough to see the flushed red cheeks beneath her cakey makeup and the unfocused glaze over her watery blue eyes that spoke of her currant state of non-sobriety. "So... You're the one who found my husband dead. Goodie for you." Jane slurred. The amber liquid sloshing dangerously close to the rim of the glass as she tipped slightly over to the side. "I've been waiting for someone to knock that b****** off for ages. Now I can finally be free! Free at last!" She cackled, throwing back the rest of her drink -- minus cherry -- and slammed the empty glass down on the table. 

You struggled to maintain your surprise. That was a bit unexpected. "I'm sorry for your loss madam. I was under the impression that your marriage was a happy one, as it is rather rare for a grim reaper to be married at all?" Pushing your own glass towards the intoxicated Lady, she eyed it for one whole second before snatching it and throwing it back like its predecessor. 

Jane eyed you with a venomous glance. "That midget was nothing more than a greedy, money hording troll who made my life miserable from the very second I laid eyes on him! Always saying that just because I was a _woman_ that I needed a _man_ to take care of me and show me the finer things in life when all he wanted was to take care of my bank account!" She hissed. Swiping a hand over her mouth, Jane smears the red lipstick she was wearing till it's lines her entire lips in a clownish fashion. "I was quite a wealthy lady once, a cousin to the queen herself, and beloved by all. Oh, yes. I was invited to all the grandest parties and balls. There was nothing like." She sighed. That begged the question if she was so happy, then why did she kill herself and become a grim reaper? "And... then I was here. A middle class reaper with nowhere to go and nothing to do except endless piles of work. For a few years, it seemed like Snidely would actually be fun distraction but his obsession with money just grew worse as time passed on." Here she paused and pointed one withered finger at you. "You'll see in time. That handsome young man of yours will just become more obsessed as the years of your relationship pass by, leaving you with nothing but your own heartache." 

"Me- And Grell- we're not together." You spluttered while whipping your finger back and forth between yourself and the red reaper currently face down in the grass with his coat over his head, bum stuck up in the air like a target, and the children on his back screaming "Pony! Pony!" while kicking him directly in the ribs. Ouch! His muffled screams and curses around a mouthful of grass would have made a sailor blush if the children had truly been able to understand what they had been hearing. You really have to speak with him about his frequent use of vulgar language, particularly around children. "Although your children seem to be using him as a personal-sized shetland pony." 

"Oh, but I've seen the way he looks at you. It's the same way that Snidely looked at me before we married. Don't look so disappointed. Sutcliff if one of the most handsome men currently in the London reapers. Has the best a** too." The butler reappeared behind her with a fresh cocktail and placed it in her hand. "Hans and Emily aren't my children either. Some cousin I don't even know the name of appeared on my doorstep in the middle of the night and left them here. It's funny. I thought that once you were a reaper, you were forbidden from having any contact with your remaining family. Hans! Emily! Get off that man and give him back his glasses!" Lady Jane stood up from her chair and screamed out suddenly. Still cackling, the maniac children obeyed her command. The little girl hopped off Grell's back and took off running for the house, nearly colliding with the butler on her way. The boy gave another swift kick to Grell's ribs before hopping off, shoving the glasses in the thick nest of Grell's hair so that it looked like a giant, hairy red caterpillar was rising up from the ground. 

"Grell Sutcliff and I are currently partners in an investigation for the continued theft of several Grim Reaper's Death Scythes." You stated firmly. "We just happened to find your husband dead and dismembered when we were expected to speak with him." 

"You called, my dearest heart!" A worn and very dusty Grell appeared kneeling at your side in the grass. His eyes glittered with golden sparkles of love behind the now cracked and broken red glasses that had been returned to their proper place. His shirt was torn and his jacket bore the blackened prints of tiny booted feet. 

"No, I didn't. Please take a seat anyway. I was just going to tell Lady Jane about her husbands suspicious activities." 

"As you wish, my (y/n)" The lovesick red reaper paid no mind to your original request. Continuing to rain kisses along the curve of your arm till he reached your shoulder, his arms threaded around your shoulders and one long leg elegantly flicked out and placed itself over your thighs. You had barely drew a breath before the rest of his weight collapsed into your lap. Although Grell was tall and lean, lightweight he wasn't as you had to struggle to breathe against the hot weight curled in your lap like a red panther. 

"So, Snidely was involved in something dirty. That's a kick." Lady Jane laughed, sucking down the rest of her drink like a sponge. "So what was it? Embellizing? Manipulation? Oh, I bet he was sleeping with some higher up's prized secretary. He always did appreciate a good set of legs." Her long skirt ballooned out as a set of violet spider-webbed veined calves swung out for your admiration. "I always wanted to have a shapely legs with perfect tone. That, and learn how to tie a knot in a cherry stem with my tongue." 

"It's not that ha-hard." You puffed at a few of Grell's stray hairs that clung to your lips from where his head was nestled against your neck. "I learned how in just five minutes-" 

"SAY WHAAAAT!" Grell shot up from his prone position in your lap with a bewildered expression. Mouth open and eyes glassy, a small stream of vibrant blood trickled from his left nostril and down to your blouse where it left a small growing puddle of red. His fingers had tightened in your blouse nearly to the point of tearing the thin material. If he did tear it, he would pay dearly as this was one of your favorite dresses. 

"Yes I can, now shut up." Pushing his head back down in the curve of your neck, you continued on as if he had never interrupted. It didn't seem like Lady Jane had lied to you so far. Her scent didn't carry the bitter tang like almonds that you had come to associate with being lied too. Internally debating on how much to tell her, you decided to go with the short but simple truth. "Now then, What we were discussing about your husband pertained to his prior knowledge of the thefts. One common factor that occurred in every case was that Mr. Snidely requested that every reaper bring him their death scythe within 24 hours of the scythes being stolen."

Some switch within Lady Jane immediately flipped off. Her jaw went slack, the action producing a shower of fine caked dust falling from her makeup. Her eyes bugged out, the red rimmed sockets barely containing the sight organs. The drinking glass fell from her hand to bounce softly, unharmed, against the grass. "He... He was right? Sniddy was right?" Her voice was barely more than a whisper, like she was speaking more to herself than to you. 

"Who was right?" You decided to press past the Sniddy remark -- as a proper adult should have for an affection name shared between couples -- but the giggles muffled into the skin of your neck was an obvious sing of Grell's childish mindset. 

Jane shook her head to clear the muddled thoughts. "For the past two years, Snidely has been whispering of some terrible monster that was on his way to England. I didn't think much of it at the start, just the ramblings of a deranged old man and all that, but he slowly was becoming consumed by it. Staying up all night to review the most obscene news articles possible. Calling friends in other countries and questioning them about this event or that one that had happened in the country -- for the ones that had phones, the others he simply wrote letters." The gleaming interest in your eyes must have betrayed your intentions because Jane suddenly pulled back. Her boisterous personality folding inwards on itself till she seemed just as small as the little girl she was tasked with taking care of. 

"Go on." You prompted, eager for the next nugget of information. 

"It's really nothing, but Snidely said that the first sign of the monster's arrival here in England would be the disappearance of the Reaper's most used weapon. He even made a map of all Death Scythe disappearances from other countries." 

"Can we see this map?" 

"Yes, yes. Of course. It's in his office at the head of the stairs. Step back inside and turn immediately to your right, there is a staircase that leads up to his private office. It's not locked or anything, so you won't need a key." She broke off and buried her face in her hands. "God... I can't believe he was actually right."  
You tried to stand up, but Grell's weight kept you firmly pinned to your seat. "Get. Up." you whispered through your clenched teeth but Grell just held on tighter, threatening to smother you with the heavy expanse of his fluffy hair against your face. You sighed. There was only one thing you could do. Wedging your arm under his knees and behind his back, you lifted him up princess style and proceeded to carry him around while you walked. "I'm so sorry for your loss." You told the grieving widow. The butler unexpectedly appearing behind the lady to lay a consoling hand on her shoulder, bobbing his head at you in a nod of thanks. 

Striding back towards the house, Grell showed no signs of removing himself from your arms. Instead, he proceeded to plant kisses all over the side of your cheek and jawline while his limbs clung tight to yours like a mutant octopus. The interview went as well as could be expected, you just hoped that Snidely's office held some new clue as to the culprit of the case. Grell himself had even done exceptionally well, besides the brief brush with the children and clinging obsessively to you, he kept his outrageous remarks to himself. "Grell, I really appreciate you holding your tongue with Lady Jane. I know it must have been really hard given your jabbering nature, but you were an excellent assistant." Okay, so you lied a bit because he didn't really do anything but flattery gets you everywhere, maybe it could actually MAKE HIM WALK again. 

"Darling, your complements are giving me goosebumps." His face was so close to yours that the cracks in his glasses was starting to make you cross-eyed. "I can be sensitive when the occasion calls for it. Sensitive. Soft. Warm. Loving. Adoring. 

"Can I ask you something else?" 

"Anything at all, minion darling. My heart, my body, and my soul is completely yours for the taking, all you have to do is ask." Grell's eyes close dreamily, his lips puckering up in preparation for a kiss. 

"Can you open the door?" You bump his hip against the door in demonstration. 

"Oh, certainly." Grell hops out of your arms and lands with a graceful click of heels against the floor. Opening it with a flick of the wrist, he bows and motions you inside with a waving arm. "Ladies first." 

"Thank you." Just as Lady Jane said the staircase was off to the right. The two sets of shoes making a painful echo through the corridor while you climbed upwards, launching a full frontal assault on your sensitive vampire hearing. It was a short staircase, reaching the dark wooden door that hid his office away quite sooner than you expected. 

"So, what exactly are we looking for now? I can't imagine that the old crackpot had much to show for his sanity." Grell flicks a hand through his long tresses. A action that stirs up a layer of dust twenty years thick, swirling through the air like a swarm of houseflies to settle back on every surface. 

You sighed in exasperation. "Weren't you listen to what Lady Jane said? Snidely has a map of all the stolen death scythe locations in his office." 

]"Yeah, that I heard, but what good is a map that only holds the location of ones already stolen?" 

"I guess will just have to find out." You reached for the doorknob and twisted. The door giving a deep shudder of protest before slowly swinging open. More dust flew up with a life of its own, tiny being that flew and stung your skin upon contact. You swatted at the dust but flinched as your hand made contact against the exposed skin of your arm, leaning forward to inspect the tiny speck of black on your skin in the faint light. A bug, it's length barely larger than a pinhead, laid smashed on your skin. The tiny wings and legs trembling in death throes as it brethren gathered more and more, the needle thin stingers jabbing into your flesh over and over in a vengeful fury at being disturbed and the murder of their brethren. Together they swarmed, a frenzied mass that blanketed your skin and sent screams ripping from your throat as you preformed a crazed dance trying to dislodge the enraged insects. 

Behind you, Grell was preformed a similar slapping-screeching dance of his own. Together you twirled, trying to stay balanced on the tiny space of flat flooring without falling down the steps and avoiding most of the bugs that continued to pour out of the room with increased frequency. In the midst of your slapping, you faintly heard a swoosh through the air, then arms slammed you against the wall as a body pressed fully against the length of your own and your vision darkened into nothing but the color crimson. Grell, in a brilliant idea of his own, had whipped off his long red coat, twirled and wedged you against the wall and covered you with his own body, and then draped his coat around both you and him in a cozy scarlet cocoon. Now protected from the violently stinging insects, all you had to do now was wait for the insects to subside. 


	5. Chapter 5

This wasn't how Grell thought their first date would go, but the results were something he so dearly wanted indeed.

Surrounded by the snarling, snapping shadow bugs, Grell had quickly had the presence of mind to shed his coat and protectively tuck you between the wall and his body while cocooning the two of you beneath his coat. The shadow insects buzzing raged into a higher pitch as they realized that their tiny jaws were unable to pierce the thick crimson fabric that shield the both of you.

But that wasn't what captivated him the most.

It was the way you stared at him in total silence. The inky spread of your pupils that nearly encompassed the rim of (e/c). Your lips had parted, soft little breaths panted out in a whisper soft caress to his face. There was barely an inch separating your faces and even less further down between your bodies. He could feel _everything_ , the jerky rise and fall of your chest, the boning of your corset and the stiff laces of your dress. Most important of all was the two delicate hands placed ever so lightly against his chest. Two pairs of hands whose touch was scalding hot and melting through the fabric of his vest and shirt like it was nothing. Two pairs of hands that were hesitantly touching him like he would break if you only applied a little more pressure. 

Perhaps all you needed was a little motivation.

His hand lifted, fingertips reverently trailing along the smooth curve of your jawline as your eyelids fluttered closed under the gentleness of the motion. A whimper as soft as a puppy's rose in your throat and Grell felt the edges of his lips curl up in a smile. He leaned forward and placed a kiss beside your ear, breathing softly in your ear while your pulse flew wild underneath his fingers. "Darling minion, you can touch me all you want. Make me yours and I'll be the happiest grim reaper on this earth. 

You shivered in his arms, a delightful movement that showered raging sensations of the darkest desires along his body, but your eyes snapped open in alarm. Fear showed in the red depths of your eyes, changing from the normal shade of (e/c) to a sparkling deep ruby color. "Mr. Sutcliff, there is something about your presence that seems to nurture the thoughts of the most darkest nature within me." You whispered, the very tip of your pink tongue darting out to linger seductively along the edge of your plump lower lip, the very tips of two white fangs resting against the edge. "Can you tell me why?"

His greenish-yellow eyes took on an inhuman glow as his smile blossomed into full bloom just like the most scarlet red of roses. So what if his lovely minion was a vampire? There was no way in his mind that you would resemble the withered scum that crawled through the night streets in search of innocent victims to sate their ever starving thirst. Why, you only would have had to ask and he would have proudly presented his blood to you if you had so needed it. You were beautiful, a shining glory worthy of being a luminous star in the night sky -- not some dry old creature that was told as a warning to all the new reapers -- and he was going to ravish you. "You're in love with me, darling. Truly, madly, inescapably deep in love with myself just as I am with you." His fingertips ghosted over the curve of your jawline, drifting backwards to tangle deep in the thick mass of your strands to angle your face inward.

You surged forward instantly upon contact, practically leaping into his arms as he hoisted you up princess-style. His beloved scarlet coat fell from his shoulders to lay unnoticed on the floor, the remains of the last few troublesome bugs crunching underneath the heels of his boots as he walked you forward into the darkened confines of the office. The only light being a small sliver that shone through a crack between two heavy draperies framing the only window in the interior. Within a few steps, your rear had bumped into the edge of a long wooden desk faintly illuminated by that light and Grell lifted you up to lay on the desk, your back meeting the smooth surface of the wood while his front draped over your body and kissed his way around your neck.

Over and over, his lips teased lightly at the delicate skin there. Your pulse beating a fluttering beat against his tongue as his sharp teeth nipped gently, ever mindful of only your own pleasure as soft reddish marks began to bloom on your skin from his efforts. You moaned, your hands now clutching desperately at his shoulders in an effort to draw him in closer. 

"Mmn... Grell." The way you whispered his name as he sucked on one particularly sensitive spot was the most wonderful thing he had ever heard. Your head lolled back off the edge of the desk as he continued his journey upwards, returning to your lips as he began to demonstrate his own skillful presence with his much desired kiss with tongue. Finding out exactly how well you could use that tongue as you so claimed earlier was another matter altogether, one that had himself feeling like he was on fire.

"Grell... Grell look!" You pushed weakly at his slender shoulders in an attempt to redirect his attentions elsewhere above. He reluctantly dragged his gaze upwards to see what had caught your attention so, the said item receiving a string of blistering mental curses the likes that none had seen before. It was merely a map, an old brittle object of London that was covered in little black inked x's. Nothing particularly special in his opinion. Not when he had other yearnings in mind. He turned had already turned back down, lips puckered in anticipation of a kiss only to find that you had escaped from his grasp."It's a map of London, minion darling. I'll buy you one as soon as we return downtown since you seem to be so taken with it, but can we please return to the ravishing now? I'm going to be a petrified little reaper who died from sheer want if I don't have you in my arms." He tiptoed behind your back and wrapped his arms around you waist, his lips tracing the curve of your neck once more. Except this time you were stoically unresponsive to his affections. No matter how passionate he kissed you, you were as unfeeling as a marble statue. 

"Mr. Sutcliff, could you please stop this activity and concentrate on the item at hand?" You murmured rather sharply, the breathy tone that had exhaled his name in a sigh was all gone now. It seemed that he was back to boring old Mr. Sutcliff once more. Oh, joy. With you hand continuing to insistent tap on his skull, he had no choice but to discontinue his work and rest his chin on your shoulder, his greenish-yellow eyes struggling to make sense of the map littered with little red x's and paper notes tapped to the various locations of buildings and homes all around London. At first it didn't seem to make sense, the markings were just to random to be sure, but the more he studied the map, the clearer things began. That was his apartment that was marked out by one of the red x's along with the date his darling death scythe was stolen. That mark over there was where one of the younger grim reapers that you wanted him to speak to had confirmed that their death scythe was stolen from there as well. In fact, every marker was an event where a grim reaper had their death scythe stolen. 

"What... How... That little rat! He was behind this! I should have known- Umphf!" Grell's tirade was paused momentarily by your forefinger and thumb pinching his lips together to halt any further speech while your gaze raked over the map and the surrounding notes on the desk. 

"That is not true, Mr. Sutcliff. You should pay more attention to the subject at hand before jumping to conclusions. It appears that the deceased was intentionally studying the pattern of disappearances as seen by his notes here and here," The slender fingers of your free hand directed his gaze to look at the two journals laying on the desk beneath the map, the creamy white pages filled with the peculiar black scrawling pattern that Snedly had used as an excuse for writing. If he concentrated hard enough, the spider tracks shifted into a study of the recent disappearances all in connect with the appearances of a certain individual, Baron Kingsly.

"Hmn... that name sounds familiar." Grell mused as he observed a pattern between the notes and the markings. It seemed that wherever the baron appeared, the grim reaper assigned to a retrieval at that location lost their death scythe within a 24 hour span. In fact, if he remembered correctly, the baron had bumped into him while he was walking home that fateful night. 

You left Grell's grasp for a moment to turn to where a second map hung on the wall to the right of the first one, this one's fragile yellowed surface covered in black inked question marks and black pins stationed in assorted places. One of which just so happened to be the grim reaper headquarters where a question mark existed beside one name circled in bold black strokes. William T. Spears. "Mr. Sutcliff, I believe I had a lead on a possible theft."

Grell walked over to where you stood and directed his gaze over the likely target. "Willie? He is the next target?"

"I do believe so, yes."

Grell snatched up your hand in his, long eager strides propelling him onward as the flash of determination glowed in his eyes. "Come along, darling minion. We've got a thief to catch." 

~~~~~

"Minion Darling, I love you but there is no way I am wearing _that_!" Grell's upper lip curled at the janitor's blue rubber one piece uniform that you were currently holding up for him to wear. In order to remain inconspicuous, you had suggested that Grell and yourself go undercover as some of the lesser workers at the headquarters. Grell was rather eager to go along with your plan at first, his blood boiling too hot with the thoughts of vengeance against the cruel phantom who had stolen his beloved death scythe to fully realize what exactly that might entail. Unfortunately for you, now he did.

"I might be a great many things, but a slovenly janitor I am not! Do you realize what they do around here all day? What that would mean for me if one of my colleagues spotted my lovely self cleaning the toilets? Good god, it would be a nightmare that would never end!" In his mind, he could already hear the mocking bray of a certain blonde haired reaper who would never let him live it down. He would rather die first than be caught in such an inglorious position. 

"Mr. Sutcliff, do you want your death scythe back or not? I don't have time for your overbearing foolishness if we are to catch the thief in the act." Without waiting for a response, you shoved the outfit into Grell's arms and pushed him into a closet to change. 

Within in a few minutes, Grell had reluctantly changed himself into the waterproof suit and was barely able to keep his revulsion at bay. With his luscious scarlet locks twisted and pinned up beneath his uniform cap, unfashionable thick black rubber soled boots on his feet, and completely covered from his neck to his ankles in baggy blue rubber, he had never felt as unfashionable as he did now. He dreaded stepping out of the closet, but certain sacrifices must be made in order for his death scythe to return to his grasp, or that was what he was telling himself.

"Oh, you look fine." Grell perked up a bit at your words as you gazed at him in approval. "Very normal. You should fade into the background quiet easily now."  
"Thank you darling, but what about yourself? You surely can't expect to go parading around in that depressing rag and not attract attention?" Grell sniffed at your dress. 

"My attire is fine. I am going to be a maid, so my dress is not that much different." You insisted.

"Oh, but Minion darling. You simply don't understand. The maids around here don't go dressed like that. They dress like this." With one smooth movement, Grell reached into the closet and removed a single outfit consisting of a short dress with a full skirt of fluffy black tulle, a short white half-apron, long white stockings, and black stiletto heels. A french maid's costume. The look of pure revulsion that crossed your face was comical, only increasing as Grell enticingly shook the costume at you. He was just dying to see you in this, a new fantasy blooming in his mind with every passing second. 

Those seconds were surely being tested as he waited for you to slip on the outfit. He tapped his foot against the floor, his anxiousness growing in time with his footsteps till he could take it no longer. What could be taking you so long? It wasn't that involved of an outfit?

"Minion? Are you alright in there?" He leaned his hand against the door, the motion pushing it open just enough that he could see the skin of your back while your arms struggled to fasten the closure of the bodice strings while also holding all your vital parts in the proper places. 

"Don't come in here!" You screeched, arms valiantly trying to clutch the half opened bodice to your body, but that wasn't what had shocked Grell to his core. It was the scars, savage twisting pink marks that had bit into your flesh and torn deep groves. Mostly likely extremely painful to be sure. In fact, they looked like vampire bites. "Grell, stop staring! It's improper!" Your face was blushed scarlet now, nearly the same shade as his own hair, and you shuffle deeper into the shallow shadows, trying to hide from his searching gaze.

He stepped forward as if in a trance, his fingers lightly raising to trace along the brutish healed wounds. His keen eyes didn't miss the way you flinched at his touch, or the shame hidden deep within your eyes that you hid by glancing at the floor. "Who did this to you? Who dared to harm my darling little minion so?"

"I'm not a minion!" You snapped, shrugging away from his touch. "I wish you would quit calling me as such."

"Don't change the subject, (y/n)! What happened to you?" When you flinched again at the harsh bite to his words, Grell regretted his rashness, but just the sight of the scars had his own long hidden ones tingling again. He never would have forced you to do or tell him anything you truly did not want to do, but also wanted to heal that pain that showed in your eyes. "Please tell me, darling." He allowed his voice to gentle. "I know what it's like to be mistreated by someone you trusted, but I promise you will never have to worry as long as I am here."

At first he wasn't sure you were going to speak at all, but as the fabric twisted in your hands, you gradually began to speak. "I was a normal girl once, till I was attacked one evening in my own home. A vampire, blood-thirsty and half-dead Baron Kingsly, leaped through my window and drained me while I slept, the only grace being that he liked my looks enough that he fed me his blood and whisked me away to his lair. I was used as a chew toy for the other vampires of his sire line before I grew strong enough to defend myself. That was when I learned about the count's frequent war with the reapers for reaping his beloved bride before he could change her himself. I was very fortunate to be spared when a single reaper raided the nest and destroyed all but the count himself who fled in the dark of the night. That reaper was my brother who has helped me stay hidden all these years, you may have heard of him since he was rather well known among the reapers for his excellent powers of persuasion and his... well, rather odd extra activities that frequently involve corpses. His name is Adrian Crevan?"

What muscle control Grell still held in his open jaw faded into nothingness as his jaw fell slack to the floor, exposing the row of pearly white sharpened fangs to the light. Your brother was the _Undertaker_? But... but... you were nothing like him! You certainly didn't go around waltzing with dead corpses, or spouting off jokes that made no sense at all, or anything weird at all! In fact, his mind refused to process this fact that somehow the two of you were related. You must have received the improved portion of your families genes, that he was for certain."Grell, did you listen to anything I just said?" 

Grell emerged from his thoughts with a regretful smile. "My apologies, minion darling. I do know that person quite well. He tried to have me pronounced a corpse once while I was sleeping. A corpse! Me! Could you even imagine such a thing? I tried to choke some sense into him, that was for sure." He found himself chattered about this and more while lacing up the strings of your bodice with nimble fingers, the lovely sonata of your laughter rewarding him for his efforts, slightly lessening the sting of his own scars that had begun to ached in response to your own painful background.

He now had two reasons that drove his fire to catch this Baron Kingsly, the first being the return of his death scythe, the other being more than a slight bit of revenge for his mistreatment of you. 

And Grell _always_ gets his prey.

~~~~~

That opportunity came precisely at the stroke of midnight.

Under the illuminating brightness of a full moon, a slithery serpent roamed London once more. The sinuous body twisted and curled as it slid upwards from the entrance of the Grim Reaper Headquarters, up through the empty halls that normally bustled with rapid pattering of feet intent on a retrieval mission, and up till it reached the higher levels of the building normally reserved for those in commanding positions. The forked tongue flickered out, tasting the air for a scent of its intended target for the evening, one stoically overworked reaper who hated overtime.

"Stay still." A breath of air puffed soundlessly from your lips into Grell's ear, but despite your warning, he couldn't stop his trembling. The culprit of both your pain and his was standing right there! Okay, he was slithering, but a vampire was a vampire no matter what shape they took. It was taking all the strength he had to just remain standing there in the shadows, but finally he could take it no longer. Baron Kingsly was going to die!

"You bloody beast! You're mine!" Grell leaped from the safety of the shadows despite your protests, his tiny but lethally sharp death scythes appearing in his hand at a moment's notice as he leaped into action. The shadow serpent coiled again the wall, pink forked tongue flickering out to test the air before it slithered forward, darting straight through the long legs of the attacking red reaper. The smooth coils effortlessly slid around Grell's legs like water flowing around a rock, the forceful surge causing him to fall flat on his stomach as the air rushed from his lungs in one long woosh, the red-handled scissors leaving his fingers to skitter across the floor far from his grasp. 

A sweeping rush of blackness descended over Grell's vision like a curtain being drawn over a window, the tips of his gloved fingers tingling as he blindly searched for the handles of his death scythes. The air burned as he sucked down greedy gulps as he tried to replace what had been lost, his ears ringing with a hissing sound that he wasn't sure was coming from his lips. 

Grell's vision momentarily turned dark before flaring to light once more and seeing you locked in hand-to-hand combat with the vampire himself. Tall and broad, with scraggly blond hair poking from beneath a black top hat, the only resemblance that the vampire had to the serpent he had been previously was the sharp white fangs that protruded beneath thin lips and scorching red eyes the color of fire. Despite the advantage going to the older vampire, you matching him punch for punch and kick for kick, the short skirt of your maid's uniform not hampering you in the least.

"(Y/n), watch it!" Almost as if in slow motion, he watched you spin backwards to avoid a blow aimed at your head, only to fall directly into the path of a kick to your knee. You dropped to the floor with a pain filled cry, one that clawed at his heart and pushed him back into action as he saw the vampire about to attack your form once again. He grabbed your arm and twirled you away like a dancer, only to receive the blow in turn as it launched him into the air."What is going on- oof!" William had stepped outside of his office, death scythe in hand only to be momentarily flattened by Grell's body striking him directly in the chest. 

"Grell, are you okay?" you cried from where your arms were locked around Kingsly's neck. Your strength was no match for the elder vampire and you quickly found yourself caught fast by a hand wrapped around your delicate throat, slamming your body to the floor. Grell was instantly back up, kicking William in the stomach as he scrambled to his feet and charged forward again. He plunged his scythes into the meaty flesh behind the vampire's lord's neck, liquid crimson surging out over his hands and across his chest while he twisted the scissors deeper and deeper, the small enchanted blades moving ever closer to separating the vampire's head from his shoulders and ending the fight once and for all.

A fist snapped around backwards, making contact with Grell's jaw and for a moment he saw stars, glittering little red ones in frilly skirts that danced like miniature can-can dancers fell across his vision. He staggered backwards with the death scythe's still in his hands when the vampire punched him again. The blow hit his ribs with the force of a train derailing, sharp pain quickly spreading through his chest and back as he felt the snap of ribs breaking under the strain and then suddenly he couldn't breathe. 

"Grell!" Your voice, rough and raspy with pain itself, floated neck to his ear while delicate arms threaded around his waist, pulling his body safely away from the range of William's extendable pruner scythe as the head of the management division began to attack the raging vampire with a precise fury. Blood spattered and flew through the air like ribbons, turning everything in the world tinged with scarlet, but all Grell could focus his watering eyes on was the trickle of red blood that flowed from your temple down to your chin. "Grell, are you alright?"

"Darling, you're bleeding." He wheezed, his shaking hand rising to gently wipe away the red liquid that fouled your face. "I never thought I would say this, but red doesn't suit you. You're much too beautiful to be stained by this." He gave a disgusted glance to the blood clinging to his fingertips, his vision slightly off from the large cracks that stretched through the frames of his red glasses. 

"Grell..." The concern shining brightly in your vampire reddened eyes physically hurt the red reaper as he glanced up to your lovely featured creased ever so sharply in concern and pain. The silent promise of never causing you pain that he had made to you was already broken, and the vampire over there was to blame once again. He glanced over your shoulder, greenish-yellowish stretching wide as he saw the vampire sling William aside like a doll, more black-clad reapers rushing to defend their superior but it was no use. The vampire lord cackled loudly, a maddened sound that reverberated off the walls like thunder as he stretched his arms wide. A bilious black fog bloomed at his feet, quickly engulfing the entire room in the murky fog that prevented one from seeing a hand placed directly in front of their face. 

A sudden absence of the pressure of your body startled a sudden yelp from Grell. "(y/n)!" He screeched, his arms blindly reaching forward despite the protesting stabs of pain shredding his muscles from the movement. Your form was nowhere to be found, his hands grasping only at the air slick with moisture. He teetered forward, his broken ribs feeling like a thousand daggers was slicing his tender insides but still nothing. His heart thudded against his chest, increasing in time with his panic as he continued to grapple about like a blind man in search of his cane. 

As suddenly as it came, the black fog cleared to reveal that Baron Kingsly had disappeared along with yourself in tow. 

"Willie!" Grell howled, using the wall for support as he hobbled over to where the stoic reaper was standing up with his death scythe in hand. "Willie! We've got to-"

"Sutcliff, sit down before you fall down. Let yourself heal and I will be with you in a few moments." The brusque order was issued in one snap before the head of the management division strode away with long steps, barking off orders to the increasing appearance of reapers to begin the recon right away. 

As boneless as a doll, Grell's legs gave away beneath his body and he sank down where he stood, resting his battered and bruised back against the walls while his body resorted itself into proper order. Within a few moments, he felt the click of his ribs returning to their rightful position and the smothering pressure against his chest began to lighten.

Now as healed as he could be, Grell took only a moment to step into the closet and change his bloodstained janitor's uniform for his normal attire before he swirled out among the hubbub of activity as a blur of red against the stark white walls. One spare reaper actually mistook him for a moving blood stain and sprayed him with cleaner, only to receive a punch to the nose for their actions. He didn't care actually, but his nerves were tingling with worry like someone had set him on fire, horrifying images of what terrifying horrors the vampire might perform on you were too fresh in his mind. 

"Willie!" He called to the stoic reaper overseeing the cleanup of the attack site. "I'm going to need eight- no, twelve- no, just give me as many reapers as you can spare! We've got to rescue (y/n) before that b****** Kingsly can harm my precious little darling! I'll need a replacement death scythe too, these pathetic little things just aren't cutting it! I want something big and sharp, one that can cut through a body in a single stroke." Grell dangled his red scissors in William's scowling face.

"A rescue mission for Ms. (l/n) is not needed at this moment. Now come, we have work to be done." William lowered his attention to his death scythe currently still stained with the vampire lord's blood. Completely unacceptable. His scowled deepened as he removed a pristine white handkerchief from inside the jacket of his suit, his hand making long stroking motions at he began to clean the blades free of the scarlet blood. 

" _What?_ " Grell's screech rose to a new ear shattering decibel, his greenish-yellow eyes peering through his cracked lenses in utter disbelief. Willie could not have just spoken those words. Not that. "What do you mean a rescue operation is not needed for my lovely minion?"

William continued to wipe the remaining splotches of blood free from his pruner death scythe. the white handkerchief in his hand quickly achieving a pinkish hue with each pass over the blades. "Launching a rescue mission for Ms. (l/n) is not a priority at this moment or ever since (l/n) entered under our agreement in false pretenses. It was her responsibility to provide us with the information about her current supernatural state, her vampirism, and she would have been refused for the position due to that fact. Thus, her current whereabouts are not a current concern to the Grim Reapers. Now come along, Sutcliff. We have work to be done."

Grell's hands clenched tight at his sides, his feet refusing to move as if he had planted himself in stone. "No," he shocked himself with the depth of his growl as he glared over the top of his cracked lenses. "I'm going to rescue my (y/n), with or without your help Willie!" 

Spinning on his blood encrusted heel, Grell stalked out of the Grim Reaper headquarters as a man on a mission. Except that there was someone waiting for him at the entrance. A lone figure dressed in black and grey, an odd little top hat sitting atop their long grey tresses as curved black nails too long for any normal person slid along the handle of a large skeleton encrusted death scythe. 

"Well, well. Looks like Kingsly is going to have a surprise in store for him tonight." The oddly maniacal voice laughed as it steadily grew deeper, a set of yellowish-green eyes similar to his own shade peering out from under a thick fringe of grey bangs that partially hid the horizontal stitched scar that bisected his face.

"Undertaker, what do you want?" Grell narrowed his own eyes to slits as the miniature death scythes appeared in his hands at the first hint of danger to their bearer. 

"Why, I've only come to help you rescue my darling little sister since she sacrificed herself in the name of love." The self-retired grim reaper slid his pale fingertips along the wickedly sharp curve of the blade without even a single scratch forming in his pristine porcelain skin. "That is if you can keep up."

Good god this man was creepy, but if he could help him find (y/n), Grell would have partnered with the very devil himself to ensure the safe return of his lady love. "Don't worry about me, old man. It's yourself you should be worrying out keeping up with _me_." The edges of his lips curled up in a sinister gleaming smile as he sassily flipped through the loose ends of his scarlet strands with one hand, all the while keeping one eye on the Undertaker. "I'm coming for my darling little minion and _no one_ is going to stop me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry this has been so long in waiting. I hadn't realized just how long it had been that I was writing this. I know it's not my usual style, but a combination of stress in real life has kinda rendered my writing skills a little duller than normal. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy it though and I'll try to keep you from waiting so long for the next one! ;)
> 
> P.S. In the final epilogue, I was thinking about including some lemony goodness for our little darlings, let me know if you think I should.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this is kinda bad, anxiety-stress is really working hard on me right now but I'll promise to try and make the epilogue better. *fingers crossed*

The bitter scent of blood slowly pulled at the threads of your consciousnesses like a puppet's strings, tugging you away from the comforting darkness and to a slightly more aware state. The iron tang clogged thick in your nostrils, burning your eyes with the scent that was both so mouthwateringly delicious and revolting at the same time. You groaned, hesitantly cracking open a single eyelid to see the darkened interior of an abandoned building looming above. A tight, burning sensation plagued the skin of your ankles and wrists, sending stabs of searing pain straight up to the throbbing migraine blooming in your temples. 

"Well, the little one is awake." Baron Kingsly hissed, the glow of his ruby eyes even more disturbing in the dark as cold fear settled in your veins. You wriggled and pulled, your limbs bound to a single wooden chair as the vampire lord loomed ever closer through the dark. "Welcome to my lair," He started.

"Said the spider to the fly." You spat back. His red orbs glittered with madness as he came directly in front of you, one pale finger sliding along the curve of your cheek almost as delicate as a lover's caress.

"You always were a smart one. It's too bad that lovely brain of yours is useless now. Your body however," He swept his hand down over your form, a barely suppressed growl ripping free from your throat as his hands lingered appreciatively on your breasts and curves. "Your body will do nicely for the return of my bride."

Your eyes widened in shock. His bride? But raising the dead wasn't possible? Was it?

He chuckled lowly, a predator's growl of fangs and rumbling laughter that boomed off the walls like thunder. "I see you're surprised. Did you ever stop to consider the energy in a Grim Reaper's scythe? The power to end a life and cut through any material on this earth all contained in one single blade. It's amazing, really. And so often wielded in the hands of fools like that scarlet idiot that you have taken a fancy too. But now, now I have enough scythes so that when the moon reaches it's peak, I will transfer the energy into a single blade and cut through the bonds that separate the living from the death. I will have my wife back and you will serve as her new body!"

"Minion darling, we really need to find you a better class of people to associate with. All this raising people from the dead stuff is so droll." Your eyes flashed at the first hint of that familiar if slightly whiny voice. The heart that was beating so violently against the wall of your chest kicked into a higher gear as a set of greenish yellow eyes reflected back from the depths of the darkness. 

With each precise click of bloodstained heels against the floor, another feature drifted into view. A Cheshire cat smile of wickedly sharp teeth, long hair the color of a scarlet sunrise flared behind his back along with the tails of his long ruby red jacket, and the eager grinding sound of the motor from his chainsaw death scythe. "And would you look what I found lying on the ground, my precious little darling." With one quick flick of his fingers, the motor revved into high gear. The sharp teeth along the blade bit into the air with a high pitched hiss, the shining silvery metal reflecting back the image of the red eyed vampire at your side and your own bloodstained face as well. 

"You think you can stop me?" Kingsly hisses, but it's immediately drowned out by the sound of a shockingly loud cackle that sent a slow smile slithering across your face. The vampire's head snapped around, searching for the source of the sound until he looked directly up.

Perched there among the rafters like a demon bird from hell was the strongest grim reaper in existence, the Undertaker himself. With one thin hand pushing aside his bangs, your brother winked at you as he leaped down from the rafters, a long lance of silver light forming in his hand that shifted to bone and metal as his death scythe appeared at his silent beckon. "Well, well. If it isn't the amusing Baron himself. I think you have something that belongs to us."

Grell revved the motor of his death scythe once again, a particularly malevolent glint appearing in his eyes. "Perhaps he needs a little deadly motivation." The last words curled from his lips in a deadly hiss seconds before the clash of weapons and bodies. Kingsly had snatched up two death scythes, one the basic scythe shape and one being a slightly more advanced pair of hedge clippers, and blocked both the skeleton bearing blade and the chainsaw in a shower of orange sparks. Over and over the blades smacked together as all three men battled together in a fight for the ages.

Despite the throbbing headache assaulting your senses, the urge to rip free was even stronger, helped along by the searing urge to take you own revenge on the man who had hurt you so instead of letting your brother and your lover have all the fun.

Your lover, you chuckled wryly to yourself. Grell would love to hear that.

You tugged at the bindings on your legs, rocking the chair you were bound to with the ferocity of your movements. Back and forth you rocked till the wooden legs could take no more strain, tipping over to the floor in a crash of wooden splinters and snapping bones as your right shoulder snapped painfully under the strain. You hissed in shock, white hot pain searing the entire length of your right arm as you struggled to slither free of the bindings. Once free, you stood up and placed your hand on the broken joint, pressing in sharply with the palm of your hand to snap the broken bone back into place. 

"You bloody fool! How dare you tear my lovely coat!" Your attention snapped back to the fight just in time to see Grell rushing forward with his scythe upraised. A look of pure fury on his face while the torn remnants of his coat flying behind him like a pair of scarlet wings. 

Kingsly had the hedge clippers crossed with the Undertaker's own scythe, spinning around to use the momentum of Grell's own charge to slice a lethal swipe towards the middle of both Grim reapers, threatening to disembowel their innards if the blade made contact. 

In a surprising move, your brother snatched both himself and Grell back from the range of the blade, dropping his death scythe in the process while trying to keep a snarling Grell at bay from Kingsly increasingly closer attacks. 

"I will succeed! My bride will be raised forth on this night!" The crazed vampire screamed to the skies, so oblivious in his attack that he completely missed your form sneaking behind him, picking up your brother's fallen death scythe and poised the blade upright.

"I don't think so." You swung the blade forth, the supernaturally sharpened blade easily slicing through flesh and bone as easily as it cut through the air. The now lifeless head bounced to your feet, a fountain of blood spraying forth from the wound until the darkened heart ceased it's beating beneath the light of the shining silver moon above.

It was finished.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, everybody. It's pretty much pure smut between Grell and reader. I hope it's not too bad or strange. I've never had a sexual experience myself nor really had a reason to want to... so yeah. My apologies if it's totally horrible since it was my first time writing a true sex scene. I'm trying to learn how to write a good meaningful sex scene so if you don't mind commenting with what you think, I would really appreciate it.
> 
> Thanks so much for reading and enjoying the ride! :)

"Grell."

"Yes, minion darling?" The red haired reaper purred seductively.

"You're staring." You looked over the edge of your desk to see the scarlet reaper himself sprawled out across your couch on his back like a festive Valentines day arrangement. His long tresses sprawled artfully over the plush fabric of the dark pillows, his head tipped to the side where his glowing greenish-yellow eyes intensely watched your every movement with rapture glowing in the center of the inky dark pools. You had to look away, letting your gaze linger down the rest of his lean body to the rise and fall of his chest, over the hands crossed ever so politely on his stomach to the long length of his legs where the right one had crossed over his left knee, leaving the scarlet leather of his boot exposed to the light.

"Darling, I can't help it if your beauty is just that much more mesmerizing than this boring old paperwork that Willie insists that we fill out." His eyes blinked at you ever so innocently behind the red frames, trying to distract you from the absolute mounds of paperwork that William T. Spears had seen fit to dump on you.

Your supernatural status as a vampire not being disclosed at the time of the investigation being accepted had rendered some tiny portion of legalese in motion, thus providing you with no compensation for your efforts other than the affection ones provided by Grell himself. Additionally, you were thanked for your efforts in dispatching Baron Kingsly, a long time thorn in the side of the reapers, and returning all the stolen death scythes. A thanks provided by a thousand and one forms that wanted to account for every detail you had endured thus far in your investigation.

In triplicate.

You had swore to find a witch and put a curse on the name William T. Spears for the rest of his days.

You leaned back over the paperwork spread across your desk, trying to ignore the cramping pain that was currently gripping your hand with a deadly sharpness rivaling Lady Elizabeth's claws when a hint of something red slithered around the edge of your vision. Your eyes wandered upwards to see Grell sauntering over in a predator's prowl, a dangerous smile curling the edges of his lips that held unspeakable promises that you shouldn't have been thinking of, not with all that you still had to do.

"Minion, darling. Can't we take a break now? You've been at this for a very long time." 

You leaned back in your chair and propped your hands underneath your chin, letting a little smile of your own come into play as you met him nose to nose. "And you haven't filled out half as much as I have even though your stack was smaller than mine."

"Oh, pish." He flipped a hand through his red locks, lusciously fanning them out over his shoulder and gave you a haughty glare. "You can't really expect me to fill out all those droll little things can you? I'm much more suited for the heat of the moment, being the dashing hero coming to save the lady and the world from uttered destruction."

"You liked that, did you?"

"Oh, minion. Of course! It was the performance of a lifetime. Me! Wonderfully, handsome me! Rushed into the face of danger and in a hearty hale of fire with total disregard to my own safety just to save the one I loved! It was the romantic tale to end all tales!" He squealed, arms wrapped around his ribs to hug his own self while his elegant long legs kicked the air so quickly that you leaned back to avoid getting caught with an unwanted blow to the face. 

"You never did tell me how you and Adrian found me? That was what I was most curious about."

"Surprisingly, that old relic of yours was rather useful. He tasked one of his walking corpses to follow Kingsly while he waited for me. He said that he was rather amused by our relationship and would prefer to continue his amusement for the time being instead of having to wait years for the next opportunity to come along."

You made a mental note to have that witch place a curse on your brother too.

A subtle movement pulled you back from your thoughts, your vision captivated completed by the sight of Grell slowly biting the fingertips of his dark gloves and sliding them off his hands. "There is something that hasn't been quite fulfilled yet, darling. I'm still waiting for my princess to come and grant me a kiss with tongue.

You swallowed nervously, exhaling slowly through your nose to settle the eruption of buzzing nerves that had sizzled to life. "I'm not very good at these types of things, Grell.

He leaned in closer, so close that you could count every single one of his fluttering long lashes hidden behind their protective shield of glass. "Could we try? Sometimes things turn out better than you think they will."

With a heart threatening to burst through your rib cage at any given moment, your reached up and pushed back a strand of hair that had fallen over his face using just the very tips of your nails, letting the edge of your nails trail along his skin a sensual caress. He shivered, the thick fringe of his eyelashes fluttering closed as your fingers continued their journey down the smooth length of his jawline, resting only when they reached the curve of his neck where his thumping pulse eagerly greeted your touch like his very blood was trying to beat it's way out of his body just to have the pleasure of your touch.

You inhaled sharply, closing your eyes while breathing in his spicy scent that was so unique that you had no words to describe it but conjured the faint image of a wildfire brave and bold in your mind. A tremble rocks through your body with the power of a lighting strike, one that leaves your hands trembling and a dangerous surge of burning heat coiling low in your insides.

"Oh, darling! You are good at this." Your heavy lids flew open at the rumbled plea, only to meet Grell's own that had darkened and spread, the deep cavern of the black spreading to overtake all but the barest rim of green along his irises. "Please." His expression shifted, something dark and hungry coming to the surface like a beast beneath the waves of the sea.

You swallowed hard against the lump of dry cotton that had taken up residence in the center of your throat, suddenly becoming all too aware of the rapid slamming of your heart against your chest and his seemingly matching it beat for beat.

With quick, jerky movements, your fingers trailed on. Down across the collar of his shirt, stopping only a moment to finger along his collarbones hidden beneath the soft silky material. Down over the eager beating of his heart that rolled like thunder in your ears and the hissing breath of his lungs heaving with every motion. Still down you slid, flattening your palm over the ripples of his abs still so defined even through the thick leather of his vest and the smooth silk of his shirt. Only once you had reached the waistband of his pants did you halt, the tip of your thumb resting teasingly on the button when his own hand captured yours.

Thus far, his absolutely silence had been the most surprising result of your trailing touch, but as you dragged your gaze upward to his face, your breath caught once again in your throat till you were choking on air.

"(y/n)," He had never used your real name except in times of extreme emotion, always calling you darling, or minion, or some other combination that irritated you to no end. "You're playing in deadly territory, darling." He exhales slowly in a low rumble. It shouldn't have been possible for his eyes to grow any darker, to show any more hunger, but they did. He was gazing at you like a man possessed, like he was starving and you were a succulent feast laid out before him that he couldn't touch. 

A vibration racks your body, not the nervous trembling from before but a shiver of pure want at the growl of his voice and the promise it holds. Ever the gentleman, Grell was waiting for your permission to continue. 

You slid your hand down, your fingers cupping the hardest, hottest part of him just in time to feel a subtle twitch.

"Let's play." 

Grell _exploded._

He surged forward in a blur of speed, his arms reaching out to wrap around your body, hauling you up out of your chair and into the snug V of his legs. Nimble hands clawed at the fastenings of your dress, almost as desperately as your own frantically seeked the buttons of his vest. His mouth is on yours, kissing and nipping with almost gentle movements that so contrasted the harsh grind of his hips against yours. A wave of heat slithers up your spine the harder he presses himself against you. You're melting. Burning up till there is nothing left but smoldering ashes. 

Through some minor miracle, your shaking fingers managed to loosen the fastenings of his vest and then his shirt, the material hanging freely about his shoulders till he pushed back from your form and shook it off. You groaned at the temporary loss of his body heat, but eagerly pressed your palms into the smooth pale flesh now bared to your touch. He whines into your mouth when you lightly scratch your nails through the grooves of his abs and the subtle V that lingers down into the belt of his pants, stifled only by the slippery caress of your tongue sliding along his. 

He's beautiful, flawless to your eyes even with the added decoration of assorted small silvery scars scattered across his skin like exotic jewelry. A testament that the years of his existence had not been totally kind to him, particularly the large slash right across his heart caught your attention and you had half a mind to ask him what it was, but the absolutely delicious sounds he was making captured your attention away. Sliding your lips from his, you ventured down to the curve of his neck, letting your lips leave a trail of open mouthed kisses along the muscle while taking a small smile of satisfaction when his breath hitches and his hands clutch at the back of your dress like it was his lifeline. 

Showing this type of affection had never been your strong suit even before you became a vampire, and that status had also ruled out any other attempts that might have been, but somehow it all felt natural with Grell. It was not the vampire's instinct to seduce and kill it's prey that caused your fangs to appear from the burning length of your gums, closing around the rapidly fluttering skin of his pulse just firm enough to tease but not to break the skin. It was also not the vampire's instinct that had you shedding the heavy dress that Grell had finally managed to undo and kick it to some forgotten corner, leaving you only in your corset, single petticoat, and chemise that you quickly shed as well. Coming to stand before him in nothing more than your bare skin and etched scars.

"(y/n)... you're so beautiful." He murmurs almost reverently. He slips off the desk with a graceful ease, his heels clicking sharply on the floor as he closed in the short distance that separated the two of you. For as fiery hot as it had begun, his hands were gentle as they threaded through your hair, loosen the pins that held everything in place until the gentle waves fell freely about your shoulders. His thumbs stroked gently along the curve of your jaw, tilting your head slightly as he pressed one, two, three sweet but quick pecks to your lips before he slides down. Slowly, an agonizing trail of kisses and nips blooms down the line of your neck, a delicious pinching sensation that is both pleasure and pain. You cry out in a wordless whimper when his lips touch the peaks of your breast, hips involvement thrusting forward to bump into the muscle of his stomach while your hands fly to a hold on his shoulders, small red half moons appearing on his skin from the tightness of your hold. "Do you like that, darling?" He breaks apart just long enough to whisper in your skin before his mouth returns to that peak, sucking with just the right amount of pressure to send your head spinning while holding the nub gently in between his sharpened teeth. His opposite hand laves your unattended breast with gentle precision, long fingers perfectly pulling and rolling the nub till another keening moan falls from your lips.

"Please... Grell... more. More!" You begged, wriggling in his grip to try and seek more fuel for the warmth curling through your insides and steadily pooling lower. 

"You want more? My sweet darling, I do aim to please as I am a lover to die for, but I ask that you do me one little favor." He casually gazed up at you, his well kept scarlet tresses disheveled and clinging to his face, pure lust glowing in the dark light of his eyes and in the curled edges of his smirk. You draw in a shaky breath as he kisses right at the heart of your cleavage before taking one hand and sliding his glasses from their perch on his nose, flipping the dangling chain over his head and pressing the delicate red frames into your hand. "Lay these on the table for me, darling, and remember to let me hear you scream." He murmurs as he drops to his knees.

Your lips formed an soundless o as he casually glided his hand along the length of your right thigh, raising it up behind the knee to prop your foot on his thigh while he nuzzled his face into the very center of your moist core. With the first swipe of his tongue, you thought you had died and gone to blissful heaven. The second brought with it a tantalizing flutter that had a low moan of his name falling from your lips, only to fall into a whimper as the delightful warmth separated and he glanced up at you, his tongue smoothing away the lingering droplets of your essence clinging to his lips. "Hold on to my shoulders, darling. I would hate for you to get hurt should your beautiful legs give out."

No sooner did he give his permission than he dived back in to eat like a man starved and you were his main course. Your hands braced against his shoulders, holding on for dear life as his tongue traced and fluttered, his teeth bared and nipping at the sensitive nerve filled nub of your center. The hands that were so gentle as they traced the curves of your sensitive thighs turned into a nearly bruising grip as they captured your thrusting hips that were trying to shove his face harder into your core. A cry, raw and bruising, rips free from your throat from the sensation of so much concentrated on such a sensitive part of yourself, and your head falls back limp to rest on your shoulders, eyes fluttering closed to soak in the throes of the beautiful boneless bliss you were basking in. True to his words, your legs were trembling with the effort of holding yourself up and if it hadn't been for his support on your lower half than you were sure you would be sprawled out in an unseemly mound on the floor. 

Perhaps your legs had a mind of their own as the weakened muscles gave way, letting you collapse right down into the very arms that had been holding you up.

"Whoopsie! Those lovely legs just couldn't stand it, could they? Lucky thing I was here to catch you." He chuckled softly. Without the filter of his glasses, his eyes are just that much more intense. Your caught in a predator's gaze, all shades of burning black with swirling hints of vibrant green and gold. A hunger thick and fierce coils in your lower regions and by god you know what you want. 

You weave your fingers through the strands of hair at the nape of his neck, tightening into a soft fist that draws a delicious moan from his lips as you wrench his head to the side, baring the lean expanse of his smooth throat to your lips. "Take me to bed, Sutcliff." You growled, letting the elongated portion of your fangs surge forth as your buried your teeth deep into the muscles of his neck.

You vaguely had a notice of his hands crushing you to his figure, of a groan that turns into a scream of pleasure while something long and hot thrusts up against the edge of where your hip joins your center. Long limbs wrap around your body, needlessly crushing you to his chest while the world tilts and spins on it's axis. The air rushes by your ears in a screeching whistle, a thud and a crack of a door being jerked off it's hinges, and Lady Elizabeth's angry yowl as she's dislodged from her napping place atop your bed. You slide from his arms and onto the familiar plush surface, landing softly on your back and he's on you once again. Mouth smashed against yours while his tongue seductively strokes the sensitive area of your exposed fangs blooded with his own life's blood, one hand woven into the thick strands of your hair while the other roams your body, familiarizing itself with your every curve while the hot hardness still contained in his pants grinds itself with delicious friction against the moist center of your leaking flesh. 

As much as you want this to continue, a burning hunger for that final connection sent your hand on a searching mission down the jointed length of your bodies. Your fingertips ghost over the slightly damp fabric of his crotch bulging with the barely contained effect inside, drawing a particularly vicious growl from his throat and a subtle shaking rippling down his long frame. 

"Do you want me, darling?" He pleads hoarsely, grinding almost helplessly into the surface of your palm. "All of me?" 

"Yes, make love to me Grell." You plead directly in his ear and he shivers again. With another harsh voiced groan, he separates from your body just long enough to snake a hand down and undo the fastenings of his pants. He shifts and wiggles, the full burning length of his erection pressing against your stomach as he shuffles the fabric off and pitches it somewhere behind. Your nails rake down the muscles of his back when he lifts your legs to wrap around his slender hips and presses down. He throbs as the connection slides home, your moist inner workings delightfully hugging him like he was the special key for your own unique slot. 

His breath is hot and hard against your neck as he slips a guiding hand between your bodies, making sure you are both totally connected before the very first experimental roll of his hips takes place, the connection flush totally with ever single part of you lined up with him. He stills, and although a slight burning sensation brings a scowl to your face, the frantic clawing need for him to move is even worse. "Grell, please." You whine, rolling your own hips against his in a demanding surge.

"Just... one moment... darling... Your... so... so _perfect_!" His voice is dark and sweet, almost as sweet as the blood that curls through his veins. He starts a rolling movement, your hands fisting into the coverings to try and keep yourself from scratching him bloody. Still you nip at his lips as your head slowly whips from side to side, each sliding motion of contact driving you absolutely crazy as you try your best to muffle the sounds of your moans in his shoulder with each pass.

"Scream for me, darling. As loud as you can." A single finger presses to the nerve filled center of you, instantly awakening a rippling urge tenfolds stronger than anything you've ever felt in your life. The combination of the steady but blistering pace of his thrusts and the movement of his fingers is all that you can handle, your body arching up into a curve against him as pleasure rolls and breaks through your overstimulated nerves like the relentless surge of the tide, your insides quivering with the motion that also draws a series of whimpering groans from him as your shaking hands clutch tightly at any part of his body you can reach.

Another moan, deeper this time, is growled in your ear and then the relentless pace of his hips studders, faltering just long enough to release a surge of warmth to your insides. He tries to continue, vaguely thrusting onward but his shaking arms collapse beneath him, letting some of his weight fall to rest on your body but still supportive enough that he wasn't crushing you. 

For several moments, nether of you moved except for the drawing in of necessary breaths to overworked lungs and the simple movement of your fingers threading to Grell's hair. Every once in awhile, Grell presses a lazy kiss to the skin of your collarbone, his head still pillowed atop your breasts with a deliriously happy grin painted on his face. 

Even though your brain is in a self contained whirl of happiness, something about earlier troubles your thoughts, leaving your finger to tap his shoulder in question.

"Hmm... yes, minion?" He raises up to meet your eyes properly, leaving you breathless as you meet the results of a blissfully sated Grell. His lovely hair is a total mess, sweat slickened and matted from where your fingers had repeatedly rumpled through it, his cheeks ablaze with a red flush almost as bright as his hair and sticky damp with a sheen of sweat that continues down his body, his pale skin blooming into a series of reddish bruises that you sucked and bit into existence. Blooded welts and scratches covered his chest and shoulders, and you could only imagine the damage you done to his poor back, but what caught your attention was still that single scarred slash over his heart.

Your finger rose up seemingly of its own accord, tracing softly across the slightly raised patch of skin as your question came into existence. "Grell, where did this come from." You asked softly, both curiosity and fear bubbling nervously in your stomach as you halfway dreaded the answer to your question.

He sighed softly, some of the bliss leaving his eyes as memories too painful to be thought of returned into life. "Darling, I wasn't always such an affectionate little reaper. Let's just say for a time, I was rather neglectfully betrayed by someone who was supposed to have loved me and that betrayal ran deep. A blade to the heart was rather dramatic, but it was the only way I could think of to escape." He shrugged, the movement rippling the defined blooded muscles of shoulders like waves of water. "Then it turns out there was more to the ever after than most people knew."

Your vision clouded with unshed tears. Somehow it hadn't occurred to you that reapers were usually made by people committing suicide, and bubbly vivacious Grell just hadn't seemed like someone who had fell prey to the dark depths of the mind. 

"(y/n), darling. Don't cry for me." His fingertips came up to brush underneath the delicate skin of your eyes, a few pearlescent drops falling onto the edges. "If anything, I'm happy. Happy that all that has happened has finally led up to my meeting with you. The one I love more than even my lovely coat. So, please, let me show you how much I love you."

As he shifted atop your body, you felt another part of him slowly stirring to life as well. "Only if you let me show you as well."

"Gladly, minion darling. Please do as much as you want."

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoy it! This fic is also listed on my Deviantart happydoo2
> 
> Black Butler and all characters do not belong to me.  
> The idea does belong to me.  
> You belong to Grell.


End file.
